The Wolf and the Butterfly
by sparrow.marrow
Summary: *complete* Emotions are running high between the Doctor and Rose after the foreboding events of 'Fear Her' and things get complicated when Rose begins to be plagued by ominous nightmares of the Doctor’s future, a future without her.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Emotions run high between the Doctor and Rose after the foreboding events of _Fear Her_, so they set off for the Intergalactic Barter Bazaar on the asteroid planet Opifex for some much needed relaxation. But when Rose begins to be plagued by ominous nightmares of the Doctor's future, a future without her, they realize that something sinister may be lurking behind the exotic stalls of Opifex's acclaimed market.

Thank you to my lovely beta miss_prufrock over at lj, who has made this story 10x better than it ever was (or had right to be).

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Part One

Rose sat curled up on an old leather couch in the TARDIS' library, feet tucked comfortably under her, a soft red afghan wrapped snugly around her shoulders. A cup of steaming tea sat on the end table to her right, an open book nestled in her lap.

Heaving a large sigh, she stretched her arms high over her head, basking in the warmth of the large wood burning fireplace, which nearly took up one whole wall of the massive room. Rose loved everything about the library. She loved the stacks and rows of dog-eared books piled high on shelves, that reached ever upwards towards the faraway ceiling. She loved the giant mahogany desk tucked in the far corner, covered in papers and oddly shaped knick-knacks. She loved the Doctor's collection of bizarre alien lamps. Her favourite lamp had a ceramic base painted and moulded into the shape of a brown rabbit sitting on its haunches. To switch on the lamp you had to tug on the rabbit's left ear and the lampshade was painted with a rows of cheery orange carrots that sprang happily from bright tufts of green grass. There were hundreds of lamps in the room, tucked into every book free space and they filled the room with a soft constant light. But most of all, Rose loved the library's smell, old paper, spilt ink, cracked leather, and the tangy smell of wood smoke that drifted from the fireplace.

The Doctor lounged on the other end of the couch, glasses perched precariously on his nose, legs neatly crossed, paisley tie loosened. He was reading from a slim book with a red leather cover and he hadn't so much as glanced at her for what felt like ages.

So, yes, she loved the library. She loved sitting with the Doctor. She even liked the book she was reading. She was comfortable, cosy, and warm. Nevertheless - she was bored to pieces.

Five days ago, the Doctor had told her that he needed to make a few repairs on the TARDIS, and then that he planned to spend a day or two in theVoid to give the TARDIS a chance to recalibrate. At first, Rose had been glad for a little break. The Doctor could make his repairs, and she could finish her book, a delightfully trashy romance that she had picked up in a used bookstore that the Doctor had dragged her into last month. He had even promised to take her to something called the Intergalactic Barter Bazaar after he had finished with his tinkering, so that she could go shopping, maybe find some sort of alienknick-knack for her mum.

But, all of that had been five days ago; five very long, very silent days ago.

She shut her book rather loudly, the hard cover slapping down on the soft pages with a satisfying thump.

The Doctor read on.

Shifting, she gave another sigh, added a little yawn for good measure and looked pointedly over at the Doctor. No response. The Doctor remained resolutely oblivious.

Rolling her eyes, she sighed again.

The fire popped cheerfully in front of her and she let her thoughts drift farther, her eyes tracing the crackle and fizz of the golden flames.

The Doctor had been acting strangely - well -stranger than usual, ever since they had got back from 2012 and helping Chloe Webber and the Isolus. It was almost as if he was afraid of something, hesitating from taking her anywhere. He had acted oddly that night too, touching her a little more than had become habitual, cracking too many loud jokes about edible ball bearings, brushing off her comments about them always being all right. '_Never say never ever'._ She shivered, cold seeping down into her bones, despite the fact that it was quite warm in the library.

A lot of things had changed since that night. It seemed like all the words they never said to one another were growing, twisting and tangling through the space between them. It felt as if all the barriers they had so carefully set between them were beginning to crumble. And now, here she was trying to figure out whether to be elated by that strange bright and burning look he got in his eyes when he touched her or terrified that it all would change, disintegrate, and she would lose everything that was most important to her.

"Doctor?" The word popped out of Rose'smouth, breaking the soft silence of the library. He looked over at her and she suddenly discovered that she had no idea what to say, scrambling for words, her eyes settled on the book in his lap and she hastily added, "What are you reading?"

"Oh," he paused, absently tugging at his ear, "poetry."

"What kind of poetry?"

"Hmmm? Oh. Yeats."

"Never took you for a romantic," she grinned, the tip of her tongue peeking out from between her teeth.

"Cheeky." His face split into a wide grin, his dark eyes twinkling merrily at her. "Poetry is universal Rose," he said waggling his eyebrows for effect and then returning to his book.

"Suppose it is, yeah," she murmured, her eyes drifting back to the fire.

Silence settled back over the library, until, gaze still lost in the flames, she softly recited:

"'How many loved your moments of glad grace,  
And loved your beauty with love false or true,  
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,  
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.'"

He looked at her, surprise and then pleasure flashing in his eyes as he gave her wide grin, "Yeats! Fantastic!"

She squirmed a little, fighting the blush that was threatening to spill across her cheeks, "It's a bit sad really, the whole poem… but it's always been my mum's favourite though. I s'pose, over the years, she just kinda transferred it over to me."

He grinned wider. "Jackie Tyler the Romantic! Brilliant!"

She grinned back, "Sir Doctor of TARDIS the Romantic." He smiled at her again and turned back to his book. She focused on the fire.

"Doctor?" she asked, fingers worrying the red threads of the blanket wrapped around her.

"Hmmm?" he murmured absently, not looking up from his book.

She paused, indecision gripping her. Her stomach churned in nervous flip-flops, but she pushed onward, not daring to look at him. "How many children did you have?"

"What?" surprise, dismay, was evident in the tone of his voice.

She stole a glance at him. He was looking at her now, one eyebrow raised, mouth hanging part of the way open, truly gob smacked. She quailed a little, but forged ahead, her words tumbling awkwardly over themselves, "It's just -well - you said earlier that you were a father once… and I just wondered… I wanted to know how many children you had."

He had managed to regain his composure and was silent for a moment, his eyes carefully searching her face. "I had two children and one granddaughter," he said softly, returning to his book, the rigidity of body language blocking her out.

"Oh." Ignoring his obvious displeasure, she continued, asking the first question that came to mind. "Were you married then? "

"Yes, I was married," he replied succinctly. There was silence for a long moment and then he sighed, running a hand over the smooth pages of his book as if he could soak up the script through his skin. "Marriage was a bit different where I came from. More ceremonial, less, oh," he paused searching for the words, "less emotional I suppose. It wasn't about love." He looked over at her, his eyes soft.

She returned his gaze, her fingers continuing to fidget nervously with the frayed edges of the blanket, countless confusing emotions that she couldn't put a name too bubbling up inside her. She looked away, another question slipping off her tongue, "Were all your family Time Lords?"

"No, not all Gallifreyans are Time Lords." His voice broke slightly on the word Gallifreyan and her heart lurched painfully in her chest.

She bit her lip, suddenly reminded of her first him and how broken he had been when she had met him. Memories of blue eyes, rough hands, daft ears, an old and battered leather coat, she realized now that he wore as a kind of armour to protect his bruised heart. The second time she had met him, he had taken her hand, told her that he could feel the spin of the Earth and she had heard the anguish laced through his voice. She could see the sorrow on his face now. Gallifreyan. "Is that what you are, a Gallifreyan? That's where you were born, yeah?" she asked softly.

"Yes, Gallifrey," he replied, looking into the fire, his expression distant.

"Gallifrey," she whispered, tasting the soft lilt of the word on her tongue. "It's beautiful."

He didn't respond and she resumed pulling at the threads of her blanket. Noticing that she had made quite a large hole in the soft red fabric, she vaguely hoped that it wasn't some sort of costly alien heirloom. "Are there Time Ladies,then, or just Time Lords?" She was afraid to let the conversation go now, in case it never came again.

"Of course there were female Time Lords."

Her brow wrinkled in confusion, "They were called Time Lords too?"

"Yes, well, sort of. The ending of the word is slightly different when referring to women who are Time Lords. It has a feminine ending. It doesn't translate well into English. English is a bit of an odd language really, so gender neutral. I mean of course, you have your personal pronouns, but it's not like French, or Spanish, or even Latin. Of course, French and Spanish are both Romance languages based on Latin and English is a bit of a mix between… "

She cut him off, "The TARDIS doesn't translate Gallifreyan then?"

He shook his head, "No, too complicated," looking over at her, he continued, "Too many tenses."

"She doesn't translate swear words either."

A little bit of a sparkle returned to his eyes. "Noticed that, did you?"

"Bit of a prude, the TARDIS." She smiled a little as the lights in the room flickered and the TARDIS' hum became a bit louder.

"Careful Rose," he said, starting to grin, "Don't start something you can't finish."

"Never," she quipped, a large smile spilling across her features.

He opened his mouth, seemingly on the verge of saying something, and then shut it again, his face thoughtful. After a few seconds, he continued abruptly, "My granddaughter, Susan, was the only member of my family to ever travel with me."

"What was she like?" She leaned towards him, eager and a little surprised at the turn in the conversation.

"Oh - she was small and dark, a quick thinker when she focused herself." His expression, his voice, was far away, both lost in memories that she couldn't see or touch. He turned to her suddenly,dark eyes focusing on her with an intensity that made her heart ache. "She was young, sometimes a bit silly, loved music - listened to it all the time, horrible stuff too. Her favourite colour was red, loved to travel, adored London, hated Tiramisu, never could figure out why though... She was – kind, but well she was mostly fantastic, brilliant really." He paused there and something broke. Clearing his throat, he ran a hand roughly over his mouth. When he continued speaking his voice was too loud, "But she's gone - they're all gone now."

Rose bowed her head and leaned back, tucking his words away in her heart, making a vow that though it was too painful for _him_, she would remember for him. She began to pick at the threads of theafghan again, making the hole bigger and bigger. "Do you miss them?" she asked, her voicebarely a whisper.

"It was a long time ago." His voice was thick, body language tense, he was almost leaning away from her, as if he were trying to fight whatever force it was that kept pulling them together.

"You must have loved them very much."

He looked at her and she automatically looked down to see if she had dribbled on her shirt. The words had tumbled from her lips before she had had a proper chance to realize how stupid they would sound and a blush spread up her neck and across her cheeks. She bit her lip again, knowing that he wanted nothing more than to let thisconversation drop and go back to his book, pretend that nothing had ever been said, but she couldn't stop now, the damn had broken and she rushed forward, "What were their names?"

"Whose names?" he asked cautiously, looking at the fire.

"The names of the others you've travelled with," she whispered, keeping her eyes locked on his profile, the tension in the air was palpable, she could feel it pressing down around her.

He closed his book with heavy thud and turned towards her, the glare of the fire off his glasses hiding the expression in his eyes. "Why do you want to know?"

She squirmed uncomfortably under the weight of his gaze, "I just… I want to know more about you… we never talk about it… I'd just like to know."

"Why?" She still could not see his eyes.

He had countered with another question and familiar frustration bubbled up inside of her. It was so unfair! He knew everything about her, knew her mum, knew where she came from, knew her favourite colour, favourite food, favourite T-shirt, he knew… well – just everything. He had held her when she was a baby, been to her parents wedding, given her a red bike for Christmas before she had even known him, seen her hold her dying father in a dirty street. She had died for him, felt the Earth spin with him, faced down an army of Daleks at his side and still he had never even told her the name of his home planet. She would give him forever, if he only asked, if he was only willing to give her just some part of himself, however small… It was all too much and she broke."So I'm not one of them!" she burst.

"What?" His voice was low, incredulous. She should have recognized the dangerous undertone in his voice, the warning, but she was too caught up in her own emotions. Everything she had felt for months, eversince Sarah Jane, ever since Reinette, ever since she realized that just maybe this fantastic life wasn't forever, was spilling over.

She gestured expansively with her hand, "One of them! You know, just one more of your girls! One more in a long line of 'assistants' or'companions' or - whatever you call them. One more girl that you pick up and then drop off whenever you feel like it, taking but never giving. What's gonna happen when I get old, or when you're bored of me and want someone newer and younger and better looking to take my place. Is that the end? What will you say; 'Well Rose, sorry this is it, end of the line. Jolly good knowing you, I'll keep in touch, pop 'round now and then to take you for a spin 'round the Moon.' What will I have left then, a memory, a blurry photograph of a man who I never really knew?"

She paused and looked over at him. He was looking back at her, calm, unruffled. In the back of her mind, she briefly wondered how many times he'd had this conversation before and with how many other people. How many others had lined up to beg for a piece of him? Her frustration faded, replaced with fatigue. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears that she refused to let fall. "I'm sorry. I know that we've talked about this before, with Sarah Jane and everything… and I know – well - It's just that I've never really fancied Aberdeen…" she finished lamely, trying to throw some spark of humour back into the conversation.

He ignored her jibe, and the distance between them grew. "What do you want from me Rose?" he asked softly.

"I just… I'm not a child," she murmured, eyes lowered.

"You are a child." His tone was frigid.

Her head shot up and her eyes locked with his. His face was cold and unforgiving. His eyes were black, bottomless, so frightening in their intensity that she was painfully reminded of just how old, how different, how alien, he really was. Ripping her gaze away from him, she bit her lip to keep it from trembling. The space between them had never felt so large or so complicated.

She felt overwhelmed, vulnerable in the face of everything that was passing back forth in between them. She was sinking, she was in over her head, but she wasn't about to go down without a fight. "Why don't you ever talk about them? You talk all the time, all you ever do is talk. But you never talk about anything that happened in your past! You just keep everything bottled up inside and it rips you apart. I see it every day… not as much since you…you know… changed," she exclaimed, gesturing wildly at him. "But it's there in your eyes sometimes, or in how you avoid saying certain things, or doing certain things. It is there and I see it and I just want to know. I want to help."

He didn't say anything, remained silent,staring at the fire.

"Talk to me!" she cried, scrambling for words, weighed down by his silence, by everything that had happened last week at the London Olympics. She had nearly lost him then, and it had nearly undone her, it felt like she was losing him now. "We all hurt, we all lose things… its just part of life - part of being human," she ended, a littlei neloquently, all the words she really wanted to say (I love you, I hate this, you're my best friend, I would do anything for you, forgive me, please don't ever forget me) stuck in the back of her throat.

For a moment, he said nothing and then he whispered so softly that she could barely hear him, "I'm not human."

The air in the room was heavy, stifling, and her heart nearly split in two at the raw edge in his soft voice.

Impulsively, irresponsibly, selfishly, she leaned over and kissed him, the forgotten book on her lap clattering loudly to the floor. She wrapped one hand in his hair and pressed the other against his warm chest, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt where she could feel the slow and steady thrum of his double heartbeat. He smelled of wool, the tang cinnamon mixed with the darker bite of cardamom, and something else, something heavier, electric, and definitively male.

She opened her eyes. He gazed back ather, dark eyes hard, ancient, and unfathomable. His lips remained pressed against hers, cold and immobile; his hands lay still at his sides.

He had not kissed her back. _Oh_ _god, he hadn't kissed her back._

She backed away horrified, raising a trembling hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry," she whispered, refusing to look at him. Her heart was beating painfully against her ribcage. "I'm sorry," she whispered again, chancing a look at him. He was still staring at the fire, face blank, a perfect mask of indifference. Jumping up, she ran for the door, her face burning.

Before she could make her escape, he followed her, crossing the room in three bounding steps. Catching her wrist in a vice-likegrip, he pulled her towards him. Pushing his body into hers, he pressed his lips against hers with such force that she nearly stumbled backwards, but his strong hands caught her and then his long fingers were running up under her t-shirt and over her spine. His lips were burning, biting, teasing, everywhere - on the hollow of her throat, on the inside of her wrist, the curve of her jaw.

She wrapped herself more tightly around him, arching forwards. One of her hands was trapped between them, pressed against his chest, her palm vibrating with the now erratic beat of his hearts. Her other hand skimmed his jawline, rough with stubble, then snaked up over his neck and tangled into his hair. Heat started to swirl in the pit of her stomach as his tongue brushed gently against hers, softly at first, gentle as a butterfly's touch, and then more urgently as the kiss deepened and swelled into golden crescendo.

She broke away first - had to, because she couldn't breathe - and for a moment they just stood there, both out of breathe, their foreheads pressed together, eyes closed.

"Rose… I…" he started, as he shifted to bury his face in her hair. His voice was rough and uneven. "I'm an old man Rose. You deserve more."

"But I just want you." Her face was hidden in the crook of his neck, her hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt.

He pulled back abruptly, untangling their embrace. Running a hand through his hair, his gaze locked onto a point somewhere over her head. "It's late Rose, you should get some sleep."

She remained in the doorway her eyes carefully searching his face, her own face flushed with the heat of the room and the fire of his sudden embrace.

He did not - would not - look at her. He turned away, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets, "Big day tomorrow, lots of shopping, got to get you to the Bazaar so you can get something for Jackie the Romantic."

She didn't move.

"Go to bed Rose," he ordered, his voice laced with ice.

She turned and left, feeling betrayed, confused.

The Doctor waited until the sound of her footsteps faded down the hall. Picking up his discarded book, he opened it and leaned against the fireplace, expression once again detached, impassive, eyes fastened on the delicate script that curled across the page.

And softly, ever so softly, he read aloud to the empty room and to the dying fire:

"I heard the old, old men say,  
'Everything alters,  
And one by one we drop away.'  
They had hands like claws, and their knees  
Were twisted like the old thorn trees  
By the waters  
I heard the old, old men say,  
'All that's beautiful drifts away  
Like the waters."

Sinking silently onto the sofa, he dropped the book and hid his face in his hands.


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two

Stumbling blindly down the TARDIS' corridor; Rose pressed her fingertips against her swollen lips. Pausing a moment, she leaned against the wall, the feel of the alien metal, cool and familiar through the fabric of her T-shirt. Looking down at her hands, she realised with a shock that they were shaking. She had spent nearly two years running for her life and never once had her hands so much as trembled. Now her whole body was quaking. Swallowing hard, she wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans and let her head fall back against the TARDIS' wall. Again, she raised her hand to her mouth, tracing her lips, searching for any trace of him that he may have left behind.

He had kissed her, really, truly kissed her, and then sent her to bed like a wayward child. Anger, frustration, surged up in her and her hands clenched into fists. She wanted to go back. She wanted to run back to the library and slap him across the face. She wanted to feel her open hand sting his skin, she wanted to see the blood well up in his cheek. She longed to make him see her, register her face, see that he had well and truly hurt her.

But she had hurt him too, hadn't she? He was her best friend and what she had done had been selfish, childish even. The most horrible part of it all was that she really did care about his past, she really did want to know everything there was to know about him. But... just now her need to know his future, more specifically where she fit into his future, had overridden her actions. Tact had been thrown out the window, and she had blundered in, begging for assurances that she knew he could never give her. She had wanted a cuddle and a mouthful of platitudes, and she had ended up with the truth.

She wasn't stupid. She knew this life would end, maybe end soon, and she wasn't frightened of death, only of being separated from him. The thought of losing him, of losing this life, of losing everything that he had come to mean to her - that was what terrified her most of all. He was ancient and alien and she was human and fragile. She would 'wither and die' and he would go on without her. Her brief life was a snap of his clever fingers.

But now... things were different, weren't they? The boundary line that they both had so carefully constructed over the last two years was now officially broken. And well, now there was no going back was there? Things would change. _They_ would change. She had kissed him and he had kissed her. And now - here they were. She was trembling in thehallway and he was probably brooding in the library. True, it had been awhile since she had kissed anyone, not since Mickey anyway, but she was relatively sure this was not how things were supposed to end up.

Sighing, she pushed off against the wall, walking slowly to her room, her thoughts tumbling against one another. Entering her room, she blindly shoved a pile of clean clothes off her bed and onto the floor, narrowly avoiding pushing them into the overflowing rubbish bin. She toed off her trainers and crawled into bed, pulling her pink duvet over her head, without bothering to wash her face, clean her teeth, or even change out of her rumpled clothes. Closing her eyes, she did the only thing left to her. She fell asleep.

Rose opened her eyes and then shut them quickly. The light was bright, too bright. Reaching up a hand to shade her vision, she opened her eyes again.

Two twin suns sat low in a vivid orange sky. She looked down and wriggled her toes in crimson coloured grass, the cool blades tickling her bare feet. Despite the warm colour of the sky, it was chilly, and she realised with a shiver that she was still wearing the same wrinkled t-shirt and jeans she had fallen asleep in. She must be dreaming then, unless she had suddenly been transported out of the TARDIS and plonked down randomly on aplanet. Well - stranger things had happened.

Looking around at the foreign landscape, Rose shivered again. It felt odd being in such an alien place without the Doctor. But, well, she was here, dream or reality, might as well see what there was to see. Wrapping her arms tightly around herself, she began the trek forward, trepidation giving way to wonder as she took in the beauty around her. Flanking her on each side were elegant white trunked trees, their leaves shimmering, flickering gold to silver in the light breeze. The ground was cold, springy, and in someplaces bright white wildflowers with star shaped blossoms peeped up from the thick undergrowth, a dazzling diamond contrast to the ruby tinted grass.

As she walked, the two suns sank lower in the sky and the light around her became more translucent, almost golden. Colour ranging from deep purple to pale yellow streaked across the atmosphere, and the first stars began to pierce the gentle evening sky. She emerged from the forest of white trees and topped a small rise, gasping in awe.

She knew she had to be dreaming now, but a creeping doubt lurked in the back of her mind... Frankly, she wasn't sure that her imagination was quite capable of making up something so magnificent. Snow-capped mountains emerged from a distant sloping landscape, marching proudly across the horizon line. A shining city, encased in a great glass dome was nestled amongst the far-flung peaks and inside the dome, dozens of graceful towers reached upwards, scraping the twilight sky.

It was all so peaceful, perfect in its tranquillity, but still she was plagued by doubt. She bit her lip, suddenly disquieted by the flawless beauty, the seamless stillness that surrounded her. It was all a little too quiet. The city was too still, the forest too silent. A tremor crept down her spine as she stood gazing out towards the horizon. There was no sign of life anywhere. For the first time since she had opened her eyes in this strange world, she realized that she was completely and utterly alone with not even an alien insect to keep her company.

Rose cried out, ducking instinctively, batting the air in front of her as something small and dark suddenly flew into her vision and brushed the side of her cheek. She straightened and gazed incredulously at what was floating serenely in front of her, buoyed by the light breeze.

A butterfly. She had just been dive-bombed by a butterfly. Or maybe it was moth, she never had been sure of the difference. Well, whatever it was, it was beautiful – and large, probably a little bigger than her hand. Its wings were tinted every shade of blue imaginable: sapphire shadowed aqua, cobalt bled into indigo and cerulean faded to deep navy.

Funny how it had appeared, just when she had been thinking that she was so completely alone… The insect fluttered nearer and she was distracted from her train of thought. Smiling, she tentatively held out her hand. The creature brushed her fingers gently with antennae tipped in gold, and then flew off in the direction of the city. She took a few steps forward to follow, utterly enchanted by the alien insect.

Then everything changed.

Dark clouds broiled rapidly across the colour-streaked sky, obscuring the golden suns from view. The wind picked up and her hair whipped around her face, sticking to her cheeks and neck. She jumped as a deafening crack split the air. The ground beneath her feet trembled violently as another sharp bang shattered the sky. She finally managed to clear the hair from her eyes and watched in horror as the shining citadel in the distance collapsed in on itself, the silver towers toppling in on each other like children's building blocks. The ground shook again and Rose lost her balance, falling forward onto her knees. She scraped her palm on a hidden rock in the grass and the startling sting of broken flesh nearly brought tears to her eyes. A sudden blast of searing heat from behind made her topple over fully. Rose twisted her head in terror to look at the forest from which she had emerged. The tree line behind her had burst into flames and the atmosphere crackled with fire and smoke.

The ground continued to shake, and the sky grew continually darker, filling with acrid fumes and swirling clouds. She wanted to run, but where could she go? The city was now nothing but a heap of twisted glass and the forest had become a blazing inferno. She looked towards the mountains, her eyes widening in shock as she saw flames begin to lick across the stone. Even the mountains were burning. She was trapped. She was dead. The flames from the forest crept closer, catching on the crimson grass. She put her hands over her ears, closed her eyes, and wished to wake up.

+

The first thing she noticed - the heat was gone- the light was gone. Tentatively Rose uncurled from her position huddled on the ground, her eyes still firmly closed, too afraid to open them, afraid of what she might see. Moving her feet a little, she noted she was no longer standing on grass but on something much smoother. She opened her eyes and looked down; she was still in her t-shirt, jeans, and bare feet – definitely not burnt to a crisp. Still dreaming, then?

Looking around, her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light. She was in an office, or well – what might pass for an office. The only light came from a small lamp sitting on an old-fashioned wooden desk. Draped across the desk chair was a large, outdated army coat, lined with shining brass buttons. The desk was crowded but neat, a stack of papers sat next to a cup full of pens, a black stapler, a tray full of paperclips. On the opposite side of the desk was a bubbling tank containing what looked like a human hand. Sitting next to the eerie container was, oddly enough, a tiny miniature of a Dalek.

Rose leaned over, examining the small replica. Yep, tiny Dalek. She suddenly wasn't sure she wanted to meet the kind of person that kept a hand and a miniature Dalek on their desk. Shying away from examining the hand more closely, she turned instead to a large bay of windows on the opposite wall. The windows were dark, glazed, and she could not see out, serving to isolate her from whatever was outside. A door, cracked slightly open, was set into the wall of windows. She moved forward to investigate, but stopped as she heard something move behind her. Turning back towards the desk, she froze, eyes widening in shock.

A tall man with a shock of dark hair now occupied the chair that had only moments before been empty. He was wearing a white shirt under blue braces and he was grinning at her.

"Jack?" she managed to choke out.

The man picked up the tiny figure of the Dalek and waved it at her, "Give us a cuddle," he voiced in a decent imitation of the Dalek's mechanical rasp, his fingers moving the tiny plunger like arm up and down. Seeing the pained look on her face, he stood up from his chair and put the Dalek down, giving her a wide grin and holding out his arms. "Hello Rosie! Miss me?"

"Jack? Jack, you're dead. You're dead and I'm dreaming." Rose backed a little closer to the glasswindows.

He shrugged and put his arms down. "I've been dead before."

"What's that mean?" she asked, still pressed against the glass.

He grinned at her, posturing a little, his blue eyes twinkling, "It means I still look pretty good for a dead man, and even better in a T-shirt."

Despite herself, she felt herself begin to grin. "Its really you isn't it?"

"Sure," he said holding out his arms to her again.

Relief flooded through her and she ran to him, throwing herself around the desk and burrowing into his arms.

After a moment, she reached up and ran her fingers along the tiny wrinkles that sprouted from the corners of his eyes. "You look older. If you're dead how did you get older?"

"Ah,a question I myself would very much like to know the answer too," he intoned cheerfully, pulling away from her and leaning against the corner of the desk, his eyes searching her face. "How have you been Rosie, still travelling, still exploring time and space, still keeping the Doctor on his toes?"

She smiled and bumped his shoulder with her own, "Yeah of course, forever. It's not the same without you though. I miss you, travelling the three of us, it was fun."

He shook his head, wrapping an arm around her and giving her a squeeze. "Nah, you two only ever had eyes for each other, its better this way."

She bit her lip, afraid that she had hurt him, "There was room for you Jack."

Silently, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he pulled back and gave the figurine of the Dalek a light tap on its domed head. Her delight at seeing Jack again faded as the deadly alien instantly transformed into the butterfly she had seen earlier. It hovered a few moments infront of her, its blue wings flickering like gems in the soft light from the desk lamp and then it flew away, out of the open door and into the darkness.

Ignoring the butterfly and suppressing a shiver, she turned her attention back to the man in front of her. "Jack, what is this place?" she asked, trying once again to peer out the dark windows.

"My office." he moved and stood near the door, gazing out towards where the butterfly had flown.

"I never really thought that you were an office type of guy." She nervously tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze moving to the glass tank, its sinister contents bobbing gently in the bubbling current. It almost looked familiar...

"Things change Rose," he said simply, his eyes catching and holding hers.

She looked away, down at the place the tiny Dalek had been sitting, "Yeah, yeah they do," she murmured.

"I do it for you, Rose... and for him." He was suddenly standing beside her again.

She looked up at him, confused. "Do what for us, Jack?"

He brought his hand up and gently traced the line of her jaw, "I'm sorry. I'm sosorry."

Alarmed, she grabbed his hand holding it firmly in her own, "Sorry about what? Jack you're scaring me a bit."

An intense white light exploded from the dark windows and she threw up a hand to cover her eyes at the sudden brightness. She could hear shouts coming from beyond the open door. He didn't turn, but continued to look at her. Bending down, he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I am sorry, Rose." He grabbed his coat from the chair, and walked out the door, into the light.

"Jack? Jack, where are you going?" She called after his retreating figure. The shouting from outside grew louder and she stepped towards the door, ready to follow him, wanting answers to a million different questions. A gunshot rang out from below and she hurried forward, but was stopped in her tracks as the light from the windows suddenly intensified, changing from dazzling white to bright blue. She was nearly thrown off balance as the whole office shook. The glass from the windows exploded and Rose threw up her hands as shards of glass hurtled towards her face.

A second later Rose uncovered her face and looked down at her hands, expecting to find a bloody mess. Instead, her hands were whole and clean and she studied them in surprise. The sound of muffled whispers, intertwined with a stronger, clearer voice, filtered through her confusion and she looked up, realising at once that she was no longer in Jack's office.

Warm human bodies pressed in all around her and sharp elbows jostled her for more space. She was standing at the bottom of a dark and crowded stairwell. The space was stifling and smelled of unwashed bodies, sweat interlaced with the pang of hunger and the tang of fear. The dirty, pinched faces of the people around her were turned upwards, focused on a slight woman dressed all in black, who was sitting near the top of the steps. The woman's face was partly illuminated by the wavering light of a nearby candle. She was young, maybe only a few years older than Rose herself and she was beautiful, but there was something hard in her expression, something wizened and tired and knowing.

For a moment, Rose was too dazed to concentrate on what was going on around her, but the woman's voice was firm and practised, and Rose quickly honed in on the words.

"I travelled across the world. From the ruins of New York, to the fusion mills of China, right across the radiation pits of Europe. And everywhere I went, I saw people just like you, living as slaves. But if Martha Jones became a legend, then that's wrong because my name isn't important. There's someone else," the woman paused here, her eyes seemingly searching for someone who wasn't present, and then continued, "The man who sent me out there. The man who told me to walk the Earth. His name is the Doctor. He has saved your lives so many times, and you never even knew he was there..."

Rose shook her head in disbelief, her stomach churning, shock flooding her system, "He never stops. He never stays. He _never_ asks to be thanked. But I've seen him. I know him," The woman paused again, and this time her dark gaze stopped and locked onto Rose. "I love him… And I know what he can do."

Rose was breathing heard now, her chest felt tight, her head throbbed painfully and she could feel her blood coursing though her body, keeping time to the staccato drumbeat of her heart. This woman, Martha Jones, knew the Doctor, her Doctor. Where was he? Was this some glimpse of the future, some piece of the past, or some horrible joke that her subconscious was playing on her? And if this was a part of the Doctor's future, then where was she?

Her thoughts were cut off abruptly as a woman shoved her roughly to the side and yelled; "It's him! It's him! Oh my God, it's him! It's the Master! He's here!"

Panic moved through the crowd. Martha stood up, plainly frightened, but her back remained rigid and straight. A soldier'sstance.

"But he never comes to Earth! He never walks upon the ground!" a boy standing next to Rose exclaimed, his eyes wide with fear.

"Hide her!" shouted the same woman who had shoved Rose out of the way, gesturing wildly at Martha. For a moment, Rose was lost in the shuffle as Martha was hidden by a tarp, but she managed to break free and stand behind a young man who was crouched near the doorway, a cocked gun in his hand.

"He walks among us, our lord and master," breathed the boy who had spoken earlier. Rose was slightly nauseated by the reverence in his tone.

"Martha? Martha Jo-hones!" a high-pitched voice cut through the air and a shiver shot down Rose's spine. "I can see you! Out you come, little girl," the voice became lower, more dangerous, a snake's hiss, "Come and meet your master."

The crowd pressed around her remained silent, and Rose hardly dared to breathe. The voice continued, "Anybody? Nobody? No? Nothing!? Positions!" Rose heard the clamp of soldier boothsechoing in the street, the terrible sound of dozens of gun cocking echoedt hrough the heavy air. The voice continued, "I'll give the order unless you surrender. Ask yourself; what would the Doctor do?"

Rose looked back towards the stairwell as Martha stood and pulled something from around her neck. She recognised itinstantly for what it was: a TARDIS key. Martha moved down the stairs and paused by the door. Looking back at the frightened crowd, her face turned up into a gentle and reassuring smile and then she walked bravely out the door.

Without hesitation, Rose slipped quickly out the door, following Martha into the cold night. The rough pavement scraped at her bare feet and she kept her eyes trained on the group of people standing in front of her, making sure to stay in the shadows. No one noticed her; it was as if she wasn't even there.

A tall, slim man stood in the middle of the dark street, his face thrown into deep shadow by the bright light behind him so that Rose couldn't make out his features. Several silver spheres sliced through the air around the man's head, their mechanised lights beeping ominously in thedarkness. Rose started, surprised, as a flash of vivid blue, an image of familiar fluttering wings, antennae brushed with gold, appeared hovering beside the man's head. She blinked and the butterfly was gone, replaced by another metal sphere.

Martha walked into the street and Rose followed, trailing behind. She squinted, still trying to see the man's face.

"Oh, yes!" the man clapped his hands together. Rose shuddered as he leaned forward on his toes, his whole body crying out with delighted anticipation. His movements reminded her painfully of the Doctor. "Oh, very well done! Good girl! He trained you well!" he cried, gesturing wildly at Martha. Then, suddenly, he stopped and his body became perfectly still, some unreadable emotion passing across his face. He straightened and sniffed the air, inhaling deeply.

"Ah!" he breathed. "But wait just a moment, Martha my dear. I think I hear a Wolf at the door!" Rose felt the blood drain from her face as the man turned towards her. The soldiers had their guns trained on her now, and she could see Martha's face, confused and frightened. She could see the man's face now too, and his light brown eyes pierced hers, leaving her frozen in the street.

"The Bad Wolf has come to call, and she is a very Bad Wolf indeed," his voice was low, dangerous, tinged with fanaticism, insanity. He moved forward rapidly and grabbed her roughly by the arms, painfully smashing his forehead up against her own. It had happened so quickly, she couldn't move, couldn't look away. She could see nothing but the swirling vortex of his golden eyes.

"Can you hear them Wolf?" he whispered, his mouth hovering over hers. "Can you hear the drums?"

Rose felt dizzy, nauseous, hypnotized, as a primeval cadence began to pulsate through her veins. Blood pounded in her ears louder and louder. Her breath came faster, mingling with his. There were drums in her head, deafening, throbbing, echoing, an overpowering rhythm pulsing through her body. She felt her knees begin to wobble and she struggled to remain upright, but it was too much. She fell. He sunk to the ground with her, maintaining his brutal hold. Her vision started to fade, pressure building up behind her eyes. She thought for a horrible moment that her head would explode.

"I knew it," the man breathed, "You can hear them too."

Her eyes closed and darkness enveloped her.

Rose opened her eyes as the sound of drums faded into the background, receding into the back of her mind. She was in a cottage. The room was small, quaint, with a rectangular wooden table and four matching chairs. She was alone, standing next to the room's only window, which framed a lovely view of a small and blooming garden; a ragged scarecrow stood upon a nearby hill keeping a vigilant watch over the rolling countryside. Rose blinked in surprise as something suddenly brushed up against the window pane, pressing itself against the glass. The same butterfly from earlier tapped insistently against the window, its blue wings shining translucent in the watery sunlight. The same butterfly. No matter what was happening, no matter where she was there was always the butterfly.

"Don't let it in."

"What?" surprised, Rose turned to find a middle-aged woman sitting primly at the wooden table, her blonde hair was piled neatly on top of her head and she was staring down at a leather bound book clutched in her hands.

"Don't let it in," the woman repeated, not looking up.

"What?" Rose stuttered again. "Why not?" She glanced from the woman back to the window where the butterfly still hovered, drumming against the glass, its antennae waving in the breeze.

"He remembered you." The woman opened the book, her hands gently smoothed down the ink-covered pages.

Bewildered, Rose gave the butterfly a final glance and sat down at the table. "Who remembered me?"

The woman looked up then, her grey eyes, filled with grief and something harder, sliced through Rose like a knife. "My brave John." The woman flipped a few pages of the book and pushed it towards her.

Rose's eyes widened as she stared down at the page. "That's me…" raw emotion swallowed her words as she looked down at the inked page. There staring up at her from the slightly wrinkled paper was her face. It was her portrait, rendered boldly and beautifully in deep blue ink. The words around her shadowed features were nearly indiscernible, and she strained to make them out, but the woman pulled the book away from her before she could decipher the scrawled writing.

"He remembered you even when he could not remember himself." The blonde woman continued to gaze at her and Rose fidgeted a little, uncomfortable with such scrutiny from a complete stranger.

"What are you talking about? Who remembered me?" Her voice started to tremble.

"You are constant light amidst his darkness. You burn like the sun." The woman made a motion to leave the table but Rose shot forward and grabbed her arm.

"Please," Rose whispered, dread suddenly washing over her, "Tell me who you're talking about. Whose journal is that?"

The woman shook off her hand and stood, smoothing down her plain grey dress with practised ease. Looking directly, at her she stated simply, "I don't envy you his love." Picking up the leather journal, she left the room.

Rose sat there for a few seconds more, then got up and stepped out the cottage door.

Rose emerged from the cottage and onto a deserted beach, a far cry from the blooming garden she had seen from the cottage window. She looked out across the panorama of sea and sky. Grassy hills covered with squat and windswept trees turned to tumbling sand dunes and tumbling sand dunes turned to flat white sand. Jetties of deep black rock jutted out from the white beach, long fingers beckoning weary fishermen and intrepid adventurers home. The sea spread out before her, mimicking the thickly clouded grey sky. The wind was brisk and Rose automatically wrapped her arms tight around herself in an attempt to keep out the chill. Rose knew that she had never been to this place before, but the flat sea, the murky light, it was all so familiar, as if she had previously walked this beach. It felt as if this place was written into her very bones.

She sighed. When was this going to end? This, all of this had to be a dream, her tired mind couldn't think of any other possibility, but it was all so real. A tear trickled down her cheek and she brushed it angrily away with the back of her hand. Crying wasn't going to solve anything. She had to think. If this was a dream she would wake up… sooner or later… and if this wasn't a dream then she had to find some way to contact the Doctor, he would know what to do. And what about the butterfly? It had been the only constant in this strange mess since the very beginning.

The butterfly flew past her face, as if she had summoned it by merely thinking about it. Rose jumped a step backwards, irritated at herself for startling so easily. The butterfly glided away and Rose bit her lip in indecision. The last time she had followed it the world had burst into flames, and then that strange woman in grey had warned her not to let it in. Shaking her head, she made her choice, and stepped quickly after theinsect.

She followed it for a ways, climbing up and over a small outcropping of rough rock. Joy surged through her as she topped the small rise, because there he was, she had found him. The Doctor stood on the beach a few yards away, hands shoved in his trouser pockets, as if he was waiting for her, as if he had always been waiting for her. She scrambled down the rocks and started to run, her bare feet making heavy impressions in the damp sand.

"Doctor! Doctor!" she called, her voice catching and dissipating in the wind. He didn't even look at her. She was right in front of him now, gazing up into his face. He looked… well he looked horrible. His face was drawn and tight, hair flattened and unkempt, suit uncharacteristically wrinkled, deep shadows underscored his dark eyes.

"Doctor," she cried waving her hand in front of his face, but his eyes looked through her, his mouth moved, forming words that she couldn't hear. "Doctor, can you hear me?" Panic bubbled up inside of her. Desperate she reached out a hand to touch his face, but instead of the familiar roughness of his cheek, her hand met nothing but air.

She had passed right though him as if he wasn'teven there. Her mind searched frantically for some sort of solution, for some sort of explanation of how this was happening. It was like before, before when he had died and left her alone on the TARDIS. He had used a hologram to say goodbye, to tell her to have a fantastic life. Was this what this was? Was this the Doctor saying good-bye? He wouldn't leave her here would he, not in this harsh and barren place?

She gave a little cry of dismay as his image grew paler and then faded away, leaving her alone. She took a step forward, anchoring herself to the ground where he had just stood. The sob that had been building in her chest, exploded outwards and she toppled forwards, onto the wet sand, fighting down nausea.

"I want to go home," she whispered to the empty sky.

Rose woke, opening her eyes to the gentle darkness and familiar hum of the TARDIS. Gasping, she sat up and rubbed her hands over her face, trying to scrub away the after images of her dream. An orange sky, dead Jack, the sound of drums, an image of her face on ink-stained paper, and the Doctor's fading image, his grief stricken gaze. She felt sick. Trembling she wrapped her bright pink duvet more tightly around her knees and stared unblinking into the darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three

"Rosie, Rose, Rose! And here I thought you were going to sleep the whole day away!" the Doctor cried loudly, bounding up from the jump seat, as soon as Rose stepped into the console room.

He bounced down the TARDIS' ramp, stuck an arm in one brown sleeve of his overcoat and then turned to look at her, a dubious expression screwing up his face. "Oooooh. Did I just call you Rosie? Rose? Rosie? Not sure about that. Have I done that before, called you Rosie? No, I'm not sure if I like that at all." He ran his tongue over his teeth, grimacing.

"Jack used to call me Rosie," she mumbled, coming over to stand next to the console, missing the pained expression that flashed across the Doctor's face.

"Did he? Must have forgotten," he said brightly, whilst finishing the task of donning his coat.

"Where are we going?" she asked, more out of habit than out of real curiosity, her fingers hovering gently over the TARDIS' console.

"Oh, we're already there! I parked the TARDIS last night while you were sleeping. Intergalactic Barter Bazaar, remember!"

"Right." Rose's voice sounded hollow even to her own ears.

"Off we go, then!" He automatically reached out for her hand, wiggling his fingers. She looked uncertainly at his hand and then up at him.

"Ah." He pulled his hand back, shoving it in his pocket. Pursing his lips, his gaze softened as he studied her, noting the dark shadows under her eyes and the waxen cast of her skin. "Rose, I…" He paused, leaning forward, opening his mouth and then shutting it again. Looking thoughtfully at her, he appeared to be on the verge of saying something else, but instead he hurried to the TARDIS doors, threw them open, and stepped out into bright light.

Sighing, she followed him. She was frustrated and tired, drained from lack of sleep and over-thinking. Part of her wanted to kick herself. She had been so worried last night about everything changing between them. And now here he was, same as ever, still reaching out for hand, still taking her to exciting new places, still chipper and adorably geeky, and she had ruined it by being moody and unresponsive.

She was angry though too; frustrated because he obviously thought that he could kiss her like he had last night and that nothing would change. Something had changed! He had kissed her. Not just kissed, but kissed her. And then she had that horrible confusing dream, with dead Jack and perfect orange worlds bursting into flames, and a leather bound journal filled with her picture and her name. So yes, she was tired and annoyed and she very much wanted to hold the Doctor's hand, but she couldn't quite make herself swallow her pride.

She stepped outside distracted by her own thoughts, nearly forgetting to close the TARDIS' door behind her. He was standing with his back to her, hands shoved in his trouser pockets. He turned to look at her as she came to stand beside him. "Here we are, then! The great asteroid planet Opifex, home to the Intergalactic Barter Bazaar, or IBB for short. Yes, the IBB! What d'you think?"

She blinked in the bright light, her ears ringing with a cacophony of foreign sounds. The Doctor had taken her to markets and bazaars all over the universe, but this… this was beyond anything she had ever seen. Vendors and buyers barked good-naturedly at one another, practiced peddler trying to out-shout savvy bargain hunter. Everywhere, as far as the eye could see, there were rows of booths and stalls painted in every imaginable colour. There were striped silk tents topped with vibrant flags, overloaded tables full of iridescent pottery, painted tin boxes, bracelets, sparkling rings, necklaces, and tiaras dripping with gems. There were wagons full of pieces of junked out metal, bolts of ornate fabric, stacks of jewel coloured candles, fantastic looking flowers, and baskets of alien fruits and vegetables. The air smelled of spices as well as the warm tangy scent of thousands of people all jammed tightly into one space. And oh, the people! There were people all over, walking, talking, singing, buying, selling. She saw humans (well, maybe humans, you could never really tell), cat people, squid people, green people, blue people, fat people, old people, young people. A group of children ran by, their mouths covered in sticky purple juice, small hands full of dark red fruit.

It was overwhelming, bright, smelly, and shining. It was… fantastic. Rose suddenly felt a little better, a little less battered, as the familiar joy, the little adrenaline rush, that she gathered from travelling shot through her veins.

"Rose? Are you all right? You look… I know last night… Well I'm… I'm not really sure what to say." the Doctor stuttered, shifting awkwardly from one foot to another.

"What?" Rose blinked, as she realized that the Doctor was talking to her, refocusing on the sound of his voice. "I'm sorry, I guess I just drifted off for a moment."

"No, no. Quite alright." The Doctor ran a hand through his hair, looking away from her.

Rose looked up at him, studying his profile. He was so clearly uncomfortable… a surge of affection rose up in her and she rallied herself. "This really is amazing," she said quietly, putting a small smile on her face.

"Oh, do you think so?" he asked, looking out at the vast and colourful bazaar. "It is, isn't it?" He grinned down at her, a twinkle of enthusiasm resurfacing in his eyes.

They wandered down the crowded streets, their shoulders close together but not touching, each stopping to look at whatever caught their gaze. She browsed through a few booths, sifting through piles of children toys, intricately carved iron lanterns, and glass vials of scented oils, looking for something that she could take home to Jackie as a souvenir. She stopped at a table full of brightly coloured scarves, running her fingers over the smooth silk and twisted wool. The scarves were beautiful, and her mum always loved whatever she bought her, but this time she wanted something special, something a little more alien than a scarf.

She had noticed the Doctor move past her when she stooped at the table, and after a few minutes of browsing through the colourful array of textiles, Rose smiled at the vendor and stepped away, wondering what the Doctor was up to. He was standing in the booth next door, gesturing animatedly at an enormous green alien, who was wearing a ridiculously small red cap atop his knobbly head. They weren't speaking, but from the looks of them both, they seemed heavily involved in conversation. Curious, she moved up to stand next to him

Half of the green alien's booth was devoted to selling what looked like gigantic purple slinkies, which hung haphazardly from the striped awning, twisted high on the table tap, and lay coiled neatly onto the ground. Oddly enough, the other half of the booth was completely free of the purple spirals and instead displayed a dazzling assortment of jewellery. She stepped forward and picked up a thick metal bracelet, carved with a pattern of interlocking flowers and set round with smooth pink stones.

The Doctor turned to her as she came up beside him. "Oh, Rose, there you are! This is Garth," he said, gesturing towards the green alien. "He has the most amazing collection of spring motion converters! Purple ones, too! I've always liked purple. Well almost always… well, in this body, anyway."

"Hello," she waved at Garth, who remained silent but gave her a smile, revealing a mouth full of wickedly sharp teeth. Rose's eyes widened a little at the sight of the rows of gleaming incisors, but she managed to smile back.

"Garth doesn't speak, as such. He's a telepath, but in a pinch he can get by with hand gestures – and of course, facial expressions," explained the Doctor, giving her a little wink.

"Oh, can you hear him, then? You know, like… in your head?" Rose gestured vaguely at the Doctor's said head and then looked back at Garth, who was still grinning at her.

"Yep, but you won't be able to - not at this range anyway. You're not wired properly," he said, tapping her forehead lightly. He smiled as he noticed the bracelet in her hand. "He also sells jewellery, of course. Do you like it?"

"It's gorgeous," she breathed, turning her attention back to the bracelet and holding it up. The stones changed from pink to pale gold in the watery sunlight. Green Garth's smile disappeared, and he started gesturing from her to the bracelet rapidly. Rose quickly put it down, unsure if she had offended him. "Is he saying something?" she asked, turning to the Doctor.

The Doctor looked at Garth, and smiled. "He says, and this isn't quite a literal translation mind you, Garth tends to speak more in pictures and flashes of emotion than in actual words, but - he says that he has never seen a more pink and yellow human, and that in honour of your shining colours, he'd like to give you the bracelet."

"Really?" Rose blushed, feeling more than a little flustered. "But I don't have anything to give him."

The Doctor gave her a little nudge with his elbow, a grin on his face. "Go on, Rose. Take it. You'd offend him otherwise."

Rose pushed the bracelet onto her arm and gave the green man a huge smile. "Thank you," she said towards Garth, perhaps a little too loudly, bowing her head and folding her hands in what she hoped would be interpreted as a gesture of gratitude.

The Doctor laughed and Garth's smile stretched even wider, revealing yet another row of sharp teeth.

The Doctor began to steer her away from Garth's booth, giving the green man a wave and a smile. "Come on then. I think I saw a booth selling orbital transmutation conduits, and I…"

"Wait." Interrupting the Doctor, Rose impulsively turned back and leaned across the table, placing a light kiss on Garth's bumpy cheek. She couldn't be sure, but she thought that his skin changed from green to light blue, which she supposed was a green man's approximation of a blush. Smiling, Rose waved again and followed the Doctor, the bracelet on her wrist.

The Doctor good-naturedly bumped her shoulder as they walked away from Garth's booth, "If I'd have known that gifts of jewellery elicited kisses, I'd have given you a few bracelets before…" He stopped suddenly as he realised what he had said, turning to look at her, the smile vanishing from his face.

They both stared at one another and she felt herself sinking into his gaze, remembering the way his lips had felt against her neck, against the curve of her jaw, remembering how his fingers had danced across her spine, and how his body had felt pressed up against hers. She was close enough to touch him. She could reach up and tangle her hands in his hair, bring her lips up to his own. She couldn't see anything except his eyes, black and bottomless. Heat flared up in the pit of her stomach, and she felt herself being pulled forward, as if gravity was pulling her in, towing her towards him, a drowning star in orbit around a black hole.

He moved then, not much, but enough to break the spell, a tiny jerk backwards, a step away from her. His face looked tight, strained, and his eyes no longer reflected the vastness of infinity, instead they were suddenly clouded and listless.

She backed up swiftly, her heart beating too quickly, striving to put as much space between them as possible. "I'm hungry," she stated abruptly, looking anywhere but at him.

The Doctor looked at her for a few seconds more, and then bounded into action, words spilling from his mouth rapid fire. "Oh. Yes. Good. I mean, I could do with a bite as well. This way, I think." He turned and walked briskly down a particularly crowded aisle, his long coat flaring out behind him. Rose sighed, and followed, her thoughts and feelings tying complicated knots around her heart and head.

Delicious smells started to waft through the air as she followed the Doctor down another walkway. The booths around them were no longer crowded with general merchandise, but were now filled with loaves of bread, steaming bowls of soup, barrels of frothy ale, and jars of multi-hued jams, as well as more exotic fare that even Rose's practiced eye couldn't identify.

The Doctor stopped and swung around to look at her. "What do you fancy, sushi from Deva Loka? Cucumber sandwiches from Eudamus? Honey cakes from Melissa Majoria? Strawberries from Asgard, maybe? Asgard produces the most fantastic strawberries, big as your head!"

Rose looked up at the Doctor, the corner of her mouth twitching up just a little. "Strawberries as big as my head?"

"What! It's true! Big as your head!" Rose continued to look up at him, the same knowing smile tilting up the corner of her mouth. "Well, all right, maybe they aren't as big as your outrageously yellow human head, but they certainly are as big as say… that Cresspallion's head," the Doctor said pointing to a small blue man with an extra set of arms growing out his torso. He turned back to her, still pointing. "And that's really besides the point really, because are you actually telling me, Rose Tyler, that after everything you've seen, cats in wimples, Victorian werewolves, and Abzorblaloff's from Clom, that you're incredulous about giant Asgard strawberries?"

"You're being rude again."

"What?"

Rose broke out into a full smile and rolled her eyes. "It's rude to point."

"Oh yes – well." The Doctor lowered his arm and shoved his hands back into his trouser pockets; ignoring the nasty look the blue Cresspallion sent his way. "We should still go to Asgard, maybe have a picnic. A picnic with strawberries."

"Chips!" she burst out, cutting him off, as she caught a familiar scent. The Doctor's brow furrowed in confusion and she elaborated, waving her hand in the air. "I smell chips." She moved a little ways down the congested aisle and stopped in front of a large booth topped by a yellow and white striped awning and a flashy sign that simply proclaimed; 'GOOD CHIPS.'

The Doctor grinned. "'GOOD CHIPS' it is." Fishing out a tatty wallet from his coat pocket, he walked over to the booth, bought two large greasy brown bags of chips, and handed one to her.

"Thanks." She sat down at a nearby table and dug in while the Doctor settled in across from her. They ate quickly, the silence of their unsaid feelings hanging heavy in the air. Rose made short work of her food and began to lick the grease off her fingers, blushing when she looked up and caught the Doctor watching her. "What? Do I have something on my face?"

The Doctor smiled, a small sad expression that spread gently across his entire face. "No, not at all, it's just… "

She looked down, focusing her eyes and fingers on folding and refolding her greasy chip bag.

"Rose, look at me."

Biting her lip, she raised her head and met his eyes, which were tender and coloured so light a brown that they shone almost golden in the pale afternoon sunlight. Looking steadily at him, she opened her mouth to speak but immediately shut it again, her heart lurching painfully in her chest as a vivid flicker of blue, the twinkle of gold antennae, flashed just behind the Doctor's head. She blinked, and looked again. It was gone. There was nothing there.

The Doctor turned and looked behind him, searching for whatever had distracted her. "What is it?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry… It's just I thought I saw…" She shifted a little peering down the crowded aisle.

"What did you see?"

"Nothing. It was nothing, really." Jumping up from the table, Rose threw her chip bag into a nearby rubbish bin and smoothed down her jacket. "Come on, then. More shopping. I'm sure there's still lots more things to see, and I've got to find something for mum." She hurried off down a nearby aisle, not bothering to wait for the Doctor to rise from the table.

Breathing deeply she stepped into a nearby booth and pretended to be engrossed in examining the hundreds of different wind chimes hanging from the walls and ceiling. She needed a second to think. What had she just seen? It had been so quick, just a flash of blue, the ghost of a wing, but she could have sworn… and even if she had seen the butterfly from her dream, then what did it mean? Was she still dreaming or was her dream a reality? And why hadn't she just told him? Why hadn't she told him about the dream? Why hadn't she told him she was sorry about last night, about everything that had happened, about everything that hadn't happened? Her head began to pound. She couldn't think of any answers.

She flinched, feeling a little guilty, as she felt the Doctor come up behind her. She turned, quickly pointing out a particularly large wind chime that looked like it had been made out of old hair dryers cobbled together with green slime. "What do you think? Fancy it would make a big splash at the Powell Estate? Add a bit of alien charm to the atmosphere?"

"Might do, yeah," he said quietly.

"Probably not, though," she whispered, turning to him, giving him a little smile, begging him with her eyes not to ask he about what had just happened, and silently pleading with him to let her odd behaviour drop.

He returned her smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "No, probably not."

"Well, we'll have to find something else then," she said, her voice sounding far more cheerful than she felt. They left the booth, silently continuing their previously established pattern of wandering aimlessly through the bazaar, not speaking, but pausing to browse through whatever caught their attention.

The Doctor had stopped to examine a table piled high with small tubes that looked like transparent batteries filled with silver liquid (he said they were fluid converters) when Rose felt something wet hit her nose. She looked up. "Doctor, I think it's starting to rain."

"Oh, what, really?" The Doctor looked up from the fluid converter he was studying, crinkling his nose in dismay. A large raindrop splattered onto his glasses. Another splashed down on his shoulder.

In a matter of seconds, a few drops of rain turned into a deluge, leaving both her and the Doctor completely soaked. Shoppers and merchants all scurried for cover while booths and stalls banged shut. The fluid converter vendor popped out into the rain and wrenched his merchandise from the Doctor's hand, slamming his cart door behind him. The Doctor looked over at Rose, clearly offended and beginning to pout, his hair flattened and dripping, "Well, that was very rude."

Rose burst out laughing, her hand covering her mouth trying to hold in her giggles at the outraged look on the drenched Doctor's face. An undignified snort escaped her hand and her laughter escalated.

Bewildered, the Doctor gaped at her. She was bending over now, holding her stomach as wave after wave of laughter washed over her. A grin spread across his face. "I don't see what's so funny," he said trying to keep the amusement out of his voice, but failing utterly.

"It's just you're… you're always so rude… and then that man… and you saying that he was being rude…" she paused, straightening up wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "And you're drenched standing there with your hair in your face, looking like a big kid, like someone else just ate the last biscuit…"

The Doctor started to laugh, which sent her into another fit of giggles, and suddenly as they looked at each other, laughing in the rain, soaked and standing in the middle of a deserted alien bazaar, the air felt a little clearer. Something had seemingly broken between them, and they both stood in the downpour, grinning at each other like loons.

"Come on, then." The Doctor reached towards her, and she felt a little tingle run up her arm as her hand slipped into his. They started to run, splashing through puddles, darting through the maze of booths, tents, and stalls, finally reaching the TARDIS, wet, winded, and laughing.

The Doctor opened the door and ran up the ramp, throwing his sodden overcoat onto its usual resting place. She followed, still grinning, wringing out her wet hair; she plopped down onto the jump seat. "I didn't get anything for my mum."

"Well, that's alright. We'll go back tomorrow, hope for better weather." He walked around the TARDIS console and started pressing buttons, checking gauges.

Her eyes widened. "Really? Two days, shopping?"

The Doctor shrugged and didn't look up from the controls. "Why not?"

Silence fell between them again and Rose wanted to cry out in frustration. She sat there a few moments longer, absently biting her nails, watching him. They had been so happy a few minutes ago, it had seemed like nothing had changed at all… but now they were back in the TARDIS where the events and consequences of last night hung heavy in the space between them. Rose felt awkward and self-conscious.

"Doctor?" she started… He looked up at her, his hair still hanging wetly in his face. She bit her lip, "I'm a bit tired. I think I'll take a nap."

She waited for him to say something caustic and witty about human sleeping patterns, but he remained silent. She got up from the jump seat, leaving behind a watermark. Her movement seemed to shake him from his daze and he took a jerky step backwards, clearing the way for her to move past him.

She looked back at him before she entered the hallway. His face was blank, composed, his mouth set in a rigid line of self-control. "Good night Doctor," she whispered.

"Good night Rose."


	4. Chapter 4

All that we seem to seem is but a dream within a dream. – Edgar Allan Poe

Part 4

Rose opened her eyes and sighed. She was no longer tucked snugly in her bed, there was no fluffy pink duvet pulled up to her chin, and the comforting hum of the TARDIS had disappeared. So she was dreaming again, then, and this time - she looked down at her thin T-shirt and jogging bottoms - she was wearing her pyjamas. Well, at least she wasn't crying on a beach. She looked around and crinkled her nose, not being on a beach seemed a small blessing since it appeared that she was in a scrap yard, alone, in the middle of the night, and it was a very smelly scrap yard.

Thick fog drifted across the ground, twisting around piles of junk and debris, turning dark shadows into moving mist. Rose shivered. Wrapping her arms around herself, she moved forward, wandering through the piles of rubbish, looking for an exit. She kept her fingers tightly crossed; silently hoping that she wouldn't run into any rabid guard dogs. It was nearly too dark to see and she had no idea which way to go. Rose cursed in pain and irritation when her little toe rammed abruptly up against something hard. Reaching out in the dark for support, her hand made contact with something rough and oddly familiar. Leaning forward and looking up, Rose realised with a jolt just what it was that she had run up against, and her heart leapt with joy. Trembling, she reached inside her T-shirt and pulled out a key from where it hung around her neck. She had found the TARDIS. She was home.

Rose slipped her key into the lock, turning it easily, and pushed open the doors. Stepping inside, she abruptly froze. This was not the TARDIS. The lighting was bright and artificially white, not the dark gold and cool teal she had become so used to. The walls were tall and deeply honeycombed, instead of domed and set with roundels. The metal floor had disappeared, replaced with smooth white tile. A bank of huge computers took up one wall and the time rotor looked as if it had shrunk in size. A young girl was there; small, with dark hair that was cropped closely to her head. The girl was wearing a blue dress with a white stripe running down the middle, white tights, and flat yellow shoes. She was dancing around the time rotor, pounding out a beat with her feet, holding a small portable radio in one hand.

The girl looked up as the TARDIS' doors opened and Rose walked in, a surprised look flashing across elfin features. "Oh, hello!"

"Hello," Rose choked out as the doors shut behind her.

The girl sat her radio down on the console. "How ever did you get in?"

Rose held up her key, the silver glinting oddly in the unfamiliar white light.

The girl's eyes widened in surprise. "You have a key! Well, isn't that odd? I didn't know that Grandfather had given anyone else a key." She rushed over and pulled the key from Rose's hand, examining it closely. Apparently satisfied, she handed it back to Rose and gave her a wide smile. "I'm Susan."

"Rose," Rose whispered.

"Oh! Well, it's very nice to meet you. Grandfather just took some plant samples back to the garden, but I can run and fetch him if you want to see him." Angling her head, she looked at Rose a little more carefully, and then seemed to think better of her suggestion. "Well, maybe I shouldn't fetch grandfather just yet."

Susan bounced away, running her fingers over the TARDIS console and then looked back over at Rose, her dark eyes bright with curiosity. "Are you from Gallifrey? Do you know Grandfather? I don't know how else you would have got a key. We've only just come from there ourselves." She brightened visibly and gave Rose another wide smile. "I'm to start school tomorrow. Can you imagine? Grandfather says that'll I'll have to be careful not to give away how much I know. I'm really very clever. I love Earth, don't you? The music is fantastic and the clothes are so funny!" Susan gave a little twirl in her blue dress and turned back to Rose, adding almost as an afterthought, "You're very quiet."

Susan paused, waiting for Rose to speak. Words stuck in Rose's throat, as she realised just who she was looking at, talking to. The Doctor's words came tumbling forth from her memory: "My granddaughter – Susan - she was the only member of my family to ever travel with me. Oh, she was small and dark, a quick thinker when she focused herself. But, well… she was mostly fantastic. She was… brilliant."

Susan spoke up again. "Is something the matter? You look as thought you've had a horrible fright. If something is the matter then I'm sure grandfather will be able to help you; he's ever so kind. He is a bit stern sometimes, but I think that just comes with age, don't you?" A thoughtful look passed over the girl's delicate features. "It doesn't feel as if you're from Gallifrey. Do you mind?" Without waiting for an answer, the girl stepped forward. Closing her eyes, she placed both hands on Rose's temples. "Oh! You're human… and you're from the future!" She pulled away, biting her lip. "I shouldn't have looked. I'm sorry." Her dark eyes swam with unshed tears as she continued to look at Rose. "Oh, poor grandfather."

"Your grandfather really is the Doctor then?" Rose whispered, already knowing the answer.

The girl had returned to running her hands over the TARDIS console, stroking different bits of it. Rose began to tremble, and she reached out bracing herself against the time rotor. "Hmm? Yes. Well, that's not his real name, you know, but that's what he likes to be called. Oh, don't be upset!"

Susan looked up and rushed over to Rose, gathering her in an impulsive hug, which Rose surprised herself by returning. "I'm sorry. I really shouldn't have pried. I'm always doing that, sticking my nose in where it doesn't belong. Grandfather says I'm jeopardy friendly – oh, don't cry!" Susan exclaimed as Rose let out a little sob into her shoulder. "Everything will work itself out in the end, I'm sure of it!"

"It just all – the TARDIS - it looks so different, and you… you're so much like him and the nightmares… I know I'm dreaming, but it all seems so real." Rose pulled away, wiping the tears from her cheeks, giving Susan a watery smile. "Here I am, having a sob fest, and you're not even real."

"No. I'm not real. But that doesn't mean these dreams you're having don't have any reality any them," Susan said earnestly.

Rose smiled. "You sound like him, talking in circles."

Susan waved a hand, flustered. "Oh I'm sorry, that doesn't make much sense, I know. But - I've looked into your mind, just for a moment... but I saw... well you're full of wonderful things! You've seen so much of time and space, so many brilliant people, some that you can't even remember! You're so brave, so full of light!"

"Susan?" A dry voice, roughened with age, sounded from the back of the TARDIS. "Are you talking to someone?"

Both women froze, and Susan looked at Rose with wide eyes. "You should go," she whispered. "Seeing you will upset him."

Rose shook her head. "But I want to talk to the Doctor!"

"Susan, where have you got to, child? I thought I heard voices… Susan?" The voice called out again, this time a little closer to the console room.

Susan was nearly frantic. "Please go, now! For him you don't even exist yet."

"But this is just a dream! What does it matter?"

Susan bit her lip. "Well, it shouldn't matter at all, but… please, just go." She began pushing her towards the door.

The TARDIS' door opened and both women stepped back as a blue butterfly flew aggressively into their vision. It stopped right outside the doors, unwilling or unable to cross the threshold. The women watched it for a few seconds as it dived towards them again and again, but always came up short. "That shouldn't be here," whispered Susan.

"Neither should I," Rose muttered. She turned back to Susan. "I just want to say… that he misses you. He really does. He thought you were fantastic." She paused, a wide grin spreading across her face. "And so do I."

Susan smiled a sad gentle smile. "Thank you."

Rose shook her head, returning the smile. "I didn't do anything. I'm just having a crazy dream. Well, nightmare," she amended, looking out into the shadowy night that lay outside the TARDIS doors, her eyes skimming across to the waiting butterfly.

Susan darted forward and grabbed her hand. "Oh, but you have! You've saved him! You've made him live again, made him want to live again! So thank you, Rose Tyler. Thank you for looking after my grandfather - thank you for loving him."

+

Rose stepped out of the TARDIS. She was no longer in the junkyard. She was standing at the bottom of a small hill; the grass was damp and she could hear the sounds of a city in the distance. An old man wearing a bright red beanie sat huddled behind a telescope, a steaming cup of tea in his hand. There was a dilapidated tent pitched crookedly behind him and a small and glowing space heater sitting at his feet.

The old man looked up, gesturing her over. "Oh! Hello sweetheart. It's nice to see you again."

Rose sighed and climbed up the small incline. Sitting down next to the man, she drew her knees up to her chest. A thousand questions fluttered on the tip of her tongue, but she settled for a simple; "Hello."

"Tea?" the old man asked, proffering her the cup in his hand. Rose shook her head and he reached behind him pulling out a bottle covered in a brown bag. "Or… well, I've got something a bit stronger." He held out the bottle to her and winked. "Just don't tell Sylvia, she wouldn't approve."

Rose only hesitated a moment before smiling and reaching for the brown bag, taking a large swig. The liquor burned the back of her throat as it slid across her tongue. The man smiled and returned to his telescope, every so often stopping to write something down on a crumpled piece of paper. It was peaceful on the hill, stargazing with this old man. Rose felt completely at ease. The liquor sat warm and golden in her stomach and she felt her eyes start to flutter. She was so tired, and she wondered vaguely what would happen if she were to fell asleep whilst she was still dreaming.

"Here we are." The man placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, motioning her to look into the telescope. "See that little cluster of stars? Just there, right next to Orion?"

She shifted and placing her eye against the lens. "Yeah. They're beautiful."

The man sighed, his voice wistful. "Never thought I'd see those stars again."

Rose looked up into the sky and then down at the quiet city, quiet buildings and quiet houses. "You haven't seen a blue butterfly, have you?"

"No, no butterflies here." He gestured cheerfully and out across the landscape and up towards the star strewn sky. "This - is your brief respite."

Rose smiled, attempting to put a brave face over the fear that had started to well up inside her. "Calm before the storm, then?" The man gave her a small, sad smile. She looked away from him, noticing what was propped up against his chair. "Is that a paintball gun?" she asked incredulously.

His bright blue eyes twinkled mischievously as he gave a small shrug. "You never know when it might come in handy." Leaning forward, he lowered his voice as if to tell her a secret. "Aliens,' he whispered.

A voice sounded from inside the house behind them. "Grandad? Are you out there?"

He turned to her. "That'll be Donna. You should probably go. It wouldn't do for her to see you."

Rose nodded and stood, brushing bits of grass off her pyjamas. "No, it seems like no one ever wants me to meet their family."

"My Donna used to have the Doctor's brain. Most important woman in the universe, she is."

Rose paused, a little alarmed at the implications of that particular statement, her mind randomly flashing back to the hand that she had seen on Jack's desk. "You don't mean… she had his brain in like - a jar, or something, do you?"

The man shook his head, "No."

Rose breathed a sight of relief, "Oh. Good."

The man stood and gave her a hug, which Rose returned. She liked this man. She liked his red hat, his secret liquor stash, and his telescope. She liked the twinkle in his blue eyes and she liked how he smelled of peppermint, fresh ink, and stardust. She found herself wishing that she could stay a little longer, meet his granddaughter, maybe, or tell him a few stories about real aliens. He pulled back, patting her cheek fondly in the way that only old men could get away with. "I'm sorry sweetheart, but it's going to get worse from now on."

Rose sighed. "I was afraid of that."

"You just show 'em some of that wartime spirit."

She laughed. "But I'm not at war with anyone."

"Nevertheless," the old man replied merrily.

She looked around, taking a deep breath of chill night air. "So how do I move on from here?"

"It might be as easy as closing your eyes."

"Good-bye."

"Good-luck, sweetheart."

+

When Rose opened her eyes, she was in a long and narrow hallway. It was almost completely dark where she was standing, but there was a soft wavering light coming from the stairwell on her right and she moved towards it, curiosity drawing her forward. Rose ran her hand over the wall, fingertips tracing the grain of the old-fashioned wallpaper, a pattern of climbing roses. Her bare feet slapped against the hard wood floor, creating strange echoes that rebounded off the ceiling and the walls. It was dark and ominous and all of it – the narrow hallway, old wallpaper, creaking floorboards - gave her the feeling that she was in one of those haunted houses from her childhood, scattered light and flickering shadows, the smell of fear and cheap spray paint, the feel of Mickey's damp hand clinging to hers. She reached the stairwell and stepped inside. A boy was there, curled into the corner, cradling something in his hands. The gas light above his head cast his features in stark relief, a shock of golden hair and wide dark eyes that did not look up at her as she came to stand over him.

She crouched down and reached out, placing a tentative hand on the boy's arm. "Hello. I'm Rose." There was no reply, and she continued, looking around. "Are you hurt? Is there anyone else here with you?"

The boy looked up at her and Rose pulled back her hand, his eyes were disconcerting. It was as if a man was looking at her from a child's body. "It's you. I've seen you before."

Rose remained where she was, crouching in front of him, her brow wrinkling in confusion. "Like I said, I'm Rose. Rose Tyler. What do you mean, you've seen me before?"

"He knows you." The boy's voice echoed oddly in the small space of the stairwell, it sounded to Rose as if it were coming from very far away.

"Who knows me?" Rose fought to keep the tremor of fear from her voice.

The boy uncurled his hands, revealing an old fob watch, its outer case engraved with a series of familiar delicate circles. Rose realised with a shock, that the designs were the same as the patterns she often saw on the TARDIS view screen.

Running his fingers over the watch, the boy looked up at her, his dark eyes locking onto hers, his voice still echoing oddly in the confined space. "He's like fire and ice and rage. He's like the night, and the storm, and the heart of the sun. He is ancient and forever. He burns as the centre of Time and he can see the turn of the universe."

Shaken, Rose fell back onto her bottom and slid down, her head thumping painfully against the wall behind her. "What are you talking about?"

"The Doctor."

A trickle of dread crept down Rose's spine, as she looked closely at the intertwined circles curling over the watch's surface. "Is this the Doctor's watch?"

The boy shook his head, "No. It's the Doctor."

Rose watched, fascinated and horrified, as he began to open the watch, slim child's fingers unhinging the silver clasp. She leaned forward as golden light began to seep from the cracks, her heart beating hard, her breath coming faster. She cringed and jerked backwards, knocking her head against the far wall again as the butterfly erupted from the watch, blue wings flapping rapidly in her face, its hard body bumping against her skin. She could hear the vibration of its wings, a desperate buzzing in her ears.

She blinked.

+

When she opened her eyes, the boy was gone and so was the butterfly. She was huddled against a plain white wall, and her head ached where she had knocked it twice earlier. She shifted, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind her ear and felt something wet brush her face. Holding her hands out in front of her, she began to shake. Blood that wasn't her own covered her palms, dripping down her arms.

She looked around, frantic, desperately searching for help. Then suddenly there was a man on the floor lying at her feet, in a place she was sure had been empty before. His shirt was soaked in blood, blood was pooling underneath his body creeping out across the floor. And he was familiar. She had seen him before. It was the man from the street, the man who had laughed and grabbed her. His face was pale, body still. She knelt down on the floor beside him, her lungs taking in air in quick raspy breathes. She felt his neck, checking for a pulse, there was none. She didn't know what to do. She didn't even know where she was. She gasped and jumped backwards as the man's eyes popped open. He sat up and looked over at her, a manic grin spreading over his features.

He looked at her, his face twisting and contorting in a wide range of emotions. He looked back down at his bloody shirt, pressing his hand into the crimson stained cloth. Bringing his hand up to his face, he looked contemplatively at his shining red fingers, and then popped one into his mouth. He took the finger back out again and wiped it on his trouser leg, his expression still contemplative. "You know, I used to think I would hate getting shot. So anti-climatic - not interesting at all. One bang!" he jerked backwards demonstratively, "And you're dead!"

He paused, studying his bloodied hand again, "But lately I've started to revaluate my opinion, because there is this moment, the moment when that little bit of metal begins to bore into your flesh – bullets twist tissue, they don't just pierce it – and there is this moment when the pain starts to surge through the nervous system, burns across the skin. First sharp and then slow, and then sharp - and it feels as though time has stopped…which is impossible! It's almost nice, getting shot… But You!" He stopped his tirade and focused on her, absently wiping his hand on his trouser leg again.

"Rose Tyler! The Bad Wolf puts in another appearance!" He jumped up from the floor and threw back in his head, a high-pitched howl erupting from his throat. "And oh, you wouldn't believe the things I had to do to the TARDIS to get her to show me your room, horrible things. Found this though." He pulled something out of his pocket. It was her bracelet. The same bracelet that she was wearing on her arm, the bracelet that Garth had given her in the market today. "Not really my style." He took it off and threw it across the room, the metal sounding a dull thump as it hit the beige carpet.

"I've seen you before, in the street. You grabbed me…"

The man shrugged. "Yes, I'm very important."

"Where are we?" Rose looked around noting the plain walls, the long conference table, and the stairs that led up to some sort of control station. There was a dilapidated tent in one corner of the room and she wondered briefly who had to sleep there.

"We are on the Valiant! My pride and joy! My good ship lollipop! Do you like it?" He spread his arms wide and gave a little twirl, a few drops of blood flew from his shirt, spattering onto the floor. She didn't respond, and his face fell into a pout.

"Oh come on, Rose Tyler! You're supposed to be fantastic, so fantastic that you swallowed the whole space time vortex, so fantastic that you disintegrated an entire army of Daleks, so fantastic that you made the Doctor, Mr. Fussy Pants, that self righteous Tinkerbell from Hell, fall head over heels in love with you!" He snorted and hit a birdcage hanging from the ceiling, causing it to twirl madly.

He looked over, a mad grin distorting his features. "You know, you're as bad as him, all silent and sullen, not willing to have any fun whatsoever. Well, I'm glad you're not a screamer anyway, screamers are so annoying – although…" his expression became contemplative and his eyes crawled over her body. "Maybe it would be better if you were a screamer. Might be fun! Let's test it, shall we?" He rushed over and crouched down, leaning towards her. "Come on Rose, give me a scream? Just a little one? Pretty please? Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

"You… are insane." Rose pushed herself up the wall, away from him, to stand on trembling legs. "Why am I here?"

He rolled his eyes and stood, flopping himself down in a nearby chair. Leaning forward, he rested his head on steepled fingers. "You know, I had high hopes for you, Rose. I really did. I mean, Martha proved to be so disappointing - though that bit at the end was quite clever… and then Jack - Jack was only fun for a little while, but you can only kill someone so many times before it gets… well… boring. And the Doctor! Well he always was a bit stuffy… but you, like I said, you're supposed to be fantastic! And now here you are, asking the same stupid repetitive questions to everyone you meet."

"Why are you here, then? Who are you?"

"Pass! Stupid questions!"

"All right, then. Why is that here?" Rose pointed to the blue butterfly. It had appeared in the birdcage that he had hit earlier and now fluttered wildly, its jewel-toned wings beating against iron bars.

He jumped up from his chair, "Ahh, there it is! That is the question, isn't it? Why -" he paused walking over to the cage and peering in, sticking a finger through the bars, "- is this here?" The butterfly quieted and dropped to the bottom of the cage, its gold antennae waving meekly. "Now," he turned to her, suddenly serious, "pay attention to this next part, it's very important."

Without warning, her knees gave out, and she crumpled to the floor, darkness descending around her.

+

With a sharp intake of breath, Rose opened her eyes and sat up, her head spinning. She was in a room overcrowded with clutter. There were whole ceramic vessels as well as shards of pottery covered in odd writing. There were bins of old and scratched daguerreotypes, shadow boxes full of exotic insects pinned to cardboard, stacks of dog-eared books, piles of ancient scrolls, marble busts of aliens and humans alike, glass vases, a wall display of wicked sharp knives, and hundreds of odd alien tech devices that Rose couldn't recognize. It all appeared to be random, a chaotic jumble of collectibles. The items were foreign, but the room felt oddly familiar.

She picked herself off up the floor, her mind searching for an answer to a question she couldn't even form. The room was small; there was only one door, no windows and no furniture except for a few old tables pressed against the walls. But it felt… well, it felt large. It felt as if it were bigger on the inside, like the TARDIS. Of course, that was ridiculous, there was no way that could be possible; she had no idea where she was. It didn't feel as if she were on the TARDIS; there was no familiar hum, though she wouldn't put it past the Doctor to have a room like this. She walked over to the door, turning the knob, but it didn't budge. Locked. Walking back to the center of the room, she sat down cross-legged in the middle of the floor. She was here for a reason, and it looked like she was going to have to wait to find out what that reason was.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there. The only source of light came from an antique kerosene lamp sitting on one of the side tables. The flicker of its tiny flame made the room shift oddly in and out of focus like an old silent film. The doorknob turned and Rose jumped up from the floor, steeling herself for whatever was about to happen. The door swung open, hinges emitting an overly dramatic creak. A lone figure stood outlined in the threshold, bright light spilled in from behind its solid form, obscuring any detail.

The figure moved in, stepping through the doorway. It was wearing a long crimson cloak, which dragged across the floor, and a deep hood was thrown up over its face. She couldn't tell what it was; man, woman, alien, robot, Auton, cat nun… blue Cresspallion standing on stilts, maybe?

Rose stood her ground as the figure came forward, stopping a few feet away. Her hands clenched into fists, her heart pounding erratically. She had just about enough of this. The figure remained silent and she opened her mouth to speak, but quickly shut it again as the figure raised an arm, the voluminous sleeve of its cloak falling back to reveal a gnarled hand. The twisted fingers curled inwards, beckoning her forwards.

"Are you kidding me?" she whispered incredulously under her breath. The figure gestured again, but Rose didn't move. All of this was starting to play out like a very cheesy horror film. Ominous portents, dripping blood, creepy children, cloaked figures be damned, it was all ridiculous. Rose decided with an angry huff of breath that whoever was behind this was about to get a healthy dose of Tyler temper slapped into them. Literally.

"Look, whoever you are, I know this is a dream and I know that means I'm really kind of yelling at myself here, but I've had enough! I've got enough to worry about without losing sleep so that I can spend the night chasing blue butterflies around my subconscious… I want to wake up now!" Lunging forward, a little surprised at her own daring, Rose swept the hood from the figure's face and recoiled in shock.

There was nothing there. The cloak crumpled to the ground and she moved forward to toe the pile of fabric with her foot, empty. She backed up a little, nervous, wondering what to do now. Something rustled and stirred, and Rose looked down in horror. The cloak was moving, bubbling, changing hues from deep crimson to bright blood red in the wavering light. Hundreds… thousands of blue butterflies exploded upwards, emerging from the empty cloak. She cursed and fell down hard, throwing her arms over her head, her knees banging painfully against the hard floor. She could hear them, feel them, their bodies, their wings, pounding, pressing against her arms and face. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears welling up beneath her eyelashes and falling down her cheeks. Darkness fell.


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5

Rose woke, her head was pounding and her mouth felt dry, like it was stuffed full of cotton. She lay in her bed a few moments, limbs still heavy with fear and sleep. She could hear the familiar soothing hum of the TARDIS again and relief washed over her. Home. Making a split-second decision, she threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She had to see him. The need to see him rushed through her body, raced along her nerves and lodged, quivering, somewhere near her heart. It was a living thing, this need for him, and it pushed her from her dark room and out into the corridor. She paused a moment to take a deep breathe and scrape tangled hair back off her face, before setting off to search for him.

She headed for the console room, thinking that he would be in there tinkering, probably listening to the awful music that he was always trying to get her to listen to too. She padded into the console room, metal grating rough under her feet, but the room was empty, the time rotor still and dim, as if sleeping. For one horrible moment, she thought she might still be dreaming and that she would never find him. Pushing away her anxiety, she went back down the hallway, checking the kitchen and then the library. Both rooms were empty,dark, and she stood in the hall, at a bit of a loss as to what to do next.

The TARDIS was huge. Beyond huge - it would take her hours, maybe days, to search the whole ship. She had lived here for nearly two years, and she knew that she probably hadn't even seen a third of the ship. The truth was she had never really had to look for the Doctor before. He had always just… appeared, whenever she needed to talk to him, like he knew. Well, maybe he did.

She turned left down the first corridor that she came to, wandering aimlessly, mind still full of images from her dreams. She turned left again, and came to a large door, cracked partly open and leaking a thin stream of light into the hallway. She knew where she was now; this was the Doctor's bedroom. She had been in there before, just a couple of times, once to fetch a spare part off his cluttered desk and another time to help him search out his favourite tie. Stepping forward, she knocked tentatively, feeling a little foolish. Chances were he wasn't even in there; he hardly ever slept. In fact, she wasn't sure if he slept at all, considering the amount of time he spent complaining about her own sleeping patterns. He had always said sleeping was a waste of time, a necessity born out of inferior human genetics or something. She had never worked out if he was kidding.

There was no reply to her knock, so she pushed open the door a little further and peeked in. He was there; sprawled out across the bed, an open book pressed flat against his chest, a stack of more books piled up at his side. He was still in his trousers, but his jacket lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, next to his discarded Converse. He was sleeping.

Stunned, she stepped across the threshold, tiptoeing across the floor to his bed. The corner of her mouth turned up in a small grin as she looked down at him. He looked so peaceful - and, she realised with a shock, he looked young. The few lines on his face had all together disappeared, and in the dim light, she could just make out the smattering of freckles across his cheeks, warm and pink with slumber. He had fallen asleep reading with his glasses on, and they had slid down so that they now sat crookedly on his nose. Smiling, she carefully took them from his face and put them on the bedside table. She slipped the book from his grasp, carefully marking his spot.. Piling the rest of the books on the floor, she pulled up the blanket from foot of the bed and carefully climbed in next to him, careful not to touch him. She winced and tensed slightly as the mattress squeaked dolefully under their double weight. He didn't wake, and she curled up, facing him. Her eyes gently traced his profile - the heavy shadow of his eyelashes, the firm line of his jaw, the soft arc of his lips. He would probably be angry with her in the morning for this invasion of privacy, but she was so desperately tired, and now that she had seen him, she couldn't bring herself to go back to the loneliness, the lurking memories of nightmares that waited for her in her room. Sighing, she scooted as close as she could without actually touching him, and fell asleep.

--

"Rose… Rose?"

She woke up, the Doctor's face looming over her. His hair was messier than usual, brown tendrils falling across his forehead and there was a red line on his cheek from where the pillow had pressed up against his skin.

"Rose, what's the matter?"

"What? Oh... nothing. I had a bad dream." She fidgeted and shifted, propping herself up against the headboard. She was suddenly nervous, her stomach trembled and flipped with anticipation. Everything that had happened to her in her dreams, all the terror and the fear and the longing, it seemed almost childish now that she was with him, now that she was near enough to reach out and touch him.

"What kind of bad dream?" The Doctor levered himself up so that he was sitting beside her, their shoulders brushing against one another. His expression was kind, attentive, and she felt some of the tension ebb from her body.

A stream of images and sounds flooded her mind; a girl dancing, the sound of drums, an old man with his telescope, the slick feeling of blood on her hands, the vibration, the thunder of a thousand wings beating against her face, skimming across her skin. She bit her lip, suddenly reluctant to voice her fears. She longed to tell him everything, but it was if something was stopping her, stealing her words. "Umm… the bad kind?"

"Rose." His tone was soft, but demanding. He took her hand in his, squeezing gently. She glanced over at him, a little surprised, and then quickly looked away, finding it hard to meet his concerned gaze.

Biting her lip, she wondered exactly how much she should tell him. "I don't know, it all goes a bit fuzzy when I try to think about it…" She rushed on before he had a chance to interrupt. "But there was a man - he'd been shot, and there was another man, older, who said that his granddaughter had your brain."

The Doctor grinned at her. "Not in a jar, I hope."

She grinned back. "No. I asked."

"Good."

She sobered and brushed her thumb across the Doctor's, studying the lines etched into his skin. "And then I was in this room, and it felt so odd, but it felt familiar too…"

"How so?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, it kind of felt as if I were in the TARDIS, but the sounds were wrong, and it didn't feel as if I was in the Vortex, or even in a ship. I suppose… I suppose the whole place just somehow felt like it was bigger on the inside, just like how the TARDIS is. Stupid, isn't it? I mean, you can't tell that just from being in one room."

"It's not stupid, Rose. It's a dream, and dreams are just fragments of fantasy and reality that get all meshed together and mixed about - " he tapped her forehead again, reminding her of their interaction earlier in the market. " - Up here, in this fantastic brain of yours." He paused, apparently thinking about something. "It would be impossible though. I mean, outside of a dream. No one else could possibly have that kind of technology - except for me, of course. Not just anyone can make something bigger on the inside - it takes phenomenal amounts of energy…"

She cut him off. "You weren't there," she blurted out, looking anywhere but at him, feeling the heat start to creep up her cheeks.

"Oh." The Doctor stopped, his mouth hanging part way open, seemingly at a loss for words. "Where was I?"

She shrugged, holding onto his hand, a lifeline, an anchor against the tide of her emotions. "I don't know…. It was if… as if I was always just missing you. I was always one-step behind. I was lost."

He surprised her again by wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close, his head falling against hers, his lips hovering near her ear. "If you ever were lost – Rose, I would never stop looking for you. I would find some way to get you back."

She smiled and tucked her head into his shoulder, breathing him in, savouring the electricity that crackled between them. "Maybe I'd find a way back to you first."

The Doctor squeezed her gently. "You probably would, clever girl." Silence settled over them like a warm blanket, and she gave a tired, contented sigh.

"Rose." His voice was a little bit hesitant now, slightly further away. "All the people that I've… travelled with - I've never forgotten any of them, never truly lost any of them. They're all here." He shifted, placing a hand on his temple. "They're all tucked away, sleeping in my mind, just as vivid as if they never really left. You never truly forget those who mean the most to you, but it's hard for me to talk about sometimes, the constant reminders…" His voice broke off, and she didn't press him for more.

They sat together for a few moments, their limbs intertwined, before she lifted her head and looked up at him. "Doctor?" she asked, scooting a little closer, pressing herself deeper into his side. "Can you make them go away?" Her voice sounded very small to her own ears.

"Make what go away?"

"The dreams." He was silent, and she hurried to explain. "Can't you go inside my head? You know, like what you did with Chloe Webber? Or with Garth today, in the market? Can't you block them off or something?"

He sighed, stroking her shoulder with his fingertips. "You wouldn't want me to, Rose. Dreams are precious. Sometimes even nightmares can be useful."

She shook her head. "No, I'm not talking about all dreams, even nightmares. It's just… these dreams are different. They're real, somehow, as if I'm seeing parts of the future and the past. But it's never my future, or even my past. It's yours. It feels so strange."

"I can't." His voice was far away again, but a hard edge had crept into his tone and she felt herself recoil a little, remembering what had happened the night before. He felt her shift away from him and pulled her closer, using a hand to tilt her chin upwards, looking into her eyes. "No, it's not like that. It's not that I don't want to… I'm afraid, Rose. I'm afraid that if I entered your mind I'd never want to leave." His voice was tender now, and his hand gently brushed her temple, tucking a few stray stands of blonde hair behind her ear. A little part of her started to sing.

"Doctor?"

"Mmm?"

"Do you really think my head is abnormally yellow?"

"What?"

"You said earlier, when we were in the market, that my head was abnormally yellow."

He chuckled. "No, Rose. I think your head is the perfect shade of yellow. My favourite colour, yellow. Well - my favorite colour is blue, but yellow comes a very close second. Especially your particular yellow."

"Oh. Good."

"Go to sleep, Rose."

"Doctor?"

"What is it?"

"Stay with me? Just until I fall asleep."

"Of course."

She drifted to sleep, cradled against his chest. Her fears diffused, scattered into the surrounding darkness, by the constant pound of his double heartbeats, low and sweet in her ear.

--

If you like this story, review please.

--

Thanks and a few comments on Ch. 4 comments:

sparklegemstone: Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed my characterization of the Master. He is one of my very favourite people to write.

Lisa: Thanks! I'll try not to make you wait too long for the next bit.

BlackAylaWolf: Thank you for your consistent reviews. I always appreciate your comments.

Clio83: Thank you so much for reviewing. And I really did think about having Rose meet William Hartnell, but then I decided not too at the last minute… maybe I'll save that idea for another fic.

friends-girl2008-Rose10-fan: Thanks!


	6. Chapter 6

Part 6

Rose woke, unsurprisingly, to an empty bed. Her heart skipped as a beat as she once again realized that she was in the Doctor's empty bed. She hadn't really expected him to pass the entire night with her. Nevertheless, his absence was still a bit disappointing. The space around her felt suddenly bigger, and lot less welcoming without him. She sighed, and rolled over onto her back, looking up into the unknown depths of the shadowy ceiling. Her limbs were still heavy with sleep, but for the first time in two days, her mind felt bright and clear. Sitting up, she yawned and stretched. Rubbing the sleep out her eyes, she swung her feet over the side of the bed and wandered into the TARDIS' corridor, heading back to her own room.

The pain and embarrassment of the last few days still lingered, but she pushed those feelings back, into a corner of her mind. She wasn't sure what would happen next, but the previous night had left her content. His words had quieted her fears and affirmed what she had already known. He did care for her, loved her even. Maybe, things would change, maybe there would be kisses now instead of hugs, and maybe things would stay the same, but it would be an adventure either way - something new. And wasn't that what they were best at, adventures? New new new Doctor (still not ginger) and a brand new Rose. She showered, dressed, and then headed for the console room, a small smile turning up the corners of her mouth.

She walked into the console room and ran her hand briefly over the time rotor in friendly greeting. The Doctor was leaning over an opening in the grated floor, a rope of wiring strung around his neck. He straightened up and looked at her when she came up to him, giving her a wide smile. His hair stuck up crazily around his head and his brown eyes were bright with suppressed excitement. She noticed that he was wearing his favourite purple paisley tie that she knew he reserved for special occasions or for days when he was feeling particular buoyant. "Hello." He said it softly and his smile stretched wider across his face.

Rose felt herself light up, warm blood rushed into her face, settling in the apples of her cheeks. "Hello," she replied, mirroring his grin.  

They stood there for a few moments, grinning at each other, their eyes locked while time swirled and fell down and broke against them. He suddenly shot into action, a spring of infinite energy. Discarding the length of wiring over the jump seat, he grabbed his coat and threw it on. Without saying anything, he reached back towards her, holding out his hand and wiggling his fingers, his eyes wide and full of light. Rose dashed down the walkway, grabbing his outstretched hand, lacing her fingers tightly through his. They bounded out the doors into the bright sunshine.

Rose looked around, retaking in the sights and smells of the bazaar. Everything seemed fresher than it had before; the colours brighter, the smells richer and more exotic. She realised that yesterday she had been so overwhelmed with worry and fear that she had failed to fully enjoy the bazaar. The rainstorm that had driven them back into the TARDIS the day before had completely dissipated. The sky arched above them, clear and pale blue. There were no clouds and the golden sun shone bright and strong, uncontested ruler of the alien sky. The storm had cleared. She bit her lip and looked over at the Doctor. Maybe the storm had cleared in more ways then one.

She squeezed the Doctor's hand, and looked up at him. "The storm's passed." He returned the pressure on his hand, but something troubled flashed in his eyes, and Rose's smile faltered. Fishing for reassurance and a cure to the ominous feeling that had started to form in the pit of stomach, she tried again, "No more storms. Right, Doctor?"

He looked down at her, giving her another grin, bouncing a little on his toes. "Right you are Rose Tyler! The forecast calls for clear skies today. There are no more impromptu rainstorms in our future."

His voice sounded cheerful enough, but Rose caught her lip in her teeth again, not fully convinced by his answer. She didn't press him for more, but smiled tentatively at him and pulled him into the busy aisles of the bazaar. They pushed their way through the heavy crowds, their hands clasped tightly together. Pausing at a table piled high with free fabric samples; Rose stopped to stare speculatively down at them, and then looked over at the Doctor who was standing at a nearby stall. He was whistling softly as he examined something red and gelatinous, which was sitting in a small silver bowl. There was a little sign that said 'Please Do Not Touch' sitting next to the viscous red goo. Rose watched, amused, as the Doctor reached out a finger to poke the wobbly mass and then bit back a giggle as the table's vendor threw him a venomous glare and swatted his hand away. She looked back down at the table of textiles. "Maybe you should get a new suit," she called over to him, distracting him just as he reached forward to try to touch the gummy goo again.

The Doctor turned and placed a hand over his chest, looking offended as he came to stand next to her. "What's wrong with the brown? I like brown. Brown is good. Brown is the colour of coffee and nice brown coloured dirt… and birds! There are lots of brown birds. Birds are lovely. Chocolate is brown! Rose you _love_ chocolate. What's wrong with the brown?" he whined looking at her with large incredulous eyes.

"Nothing! I like the brown. Love it even." He looked particularly pleased and she grinned at him, her tongue peeking out from beneath her teeth, before she started in again, "Just what if something happens to this one?" She plucked at his sleeve. "Remember when that giant purple plant thingy slimed you? I had to stand upwind of you for a week till you worked out how to get the stench out of the fabric."  

He gawped at her for a few seconds, and she could tell that he was trying to work out a good reason why he didn't need a spare suit.  
Finally, he settled on, "I didn't smell that bad."

She grinned and punched him lightly in the arm. "You're such a kid."  

He sniffed indignantly, "I'm over nine hundred years old."

Rolling her eyes, she rummaged through the pile of fabric and held up a brightly coloured piece of tartan. "Here have a go at this," she teased.  

The Doctor shook his head, making a bit of a face. "No I think I'm a little too old to pull that off, to tell you the truth." His expression became reminiscent. "Though I used to be quite fond of tartan in my youth… and cricket… and celery. I've always loved celery."   

She raised an eyebrow as he touched the lapel of his jacket, as if searching for something that should have been there. "Celery?"  

He snapped back to attention, taking his hand away from his lapel. "Yes, celery. Fascinating vegetable, celery." He looked at her defiantly, as if daring her to make a derogatory comment about his decorative vegetable of choice.

Deciding the best course of action would be to ignore the subject of celery for the moment (she made a mental note to ask him about it later). She continued to sift through the pile of fabric until she found a sample of bright blue fabric. "Well, what about a blue suit?"  

"I don't know Rose. Don't you think it'd be a bit much? Blue me, blue TARDIS, and what if you decide to wear blue jeans, or that blue jumper of yours? Then you'd be blue too! And there are so many complications that would go along with a new blue suit. I would have to get new shirts. I would have to get new ties. Rose…" he paused here pointing down at his dirty well worn converse, looking apprehensive, "I would have to get new trainers. I like my shoes. I love my shoes. I can't get new shoes, Rose. I just can't."

"Oh come on, I think blue would _suit_ you well," she proclaimed, cutting him off and wiggling her eyebrows dramatically.   

He looked at her, a horrified expression plastered across his face. "Rose Tyler, did you just make a pun? That was awful, absolutely awful." She burst out laughing and he shook his head in consternation. "Please Rose... Really, Rose... Never do it again?"   

She straightened up, holding the ache in her side, "All right, no more puns, but," she held out the fabric to him again. "Blue you, yeah? I think you would look great in blue, really."  

"Really?" he asked dubiously, eyeing the fabric with distaste, and then looking down at his beloved pinstripes.

She grinned. "_Really_." He preened a bit, and she held in another fit of giggles.   

Studying the fabric closely, he finally took it from her and stuffed it in his pocket. "I'll consider it," he decided.

"Good." Grabbing his hand again, Rose pulled him back into the press of the bazaar. Sunlight flashed off a small bit of metal sitting out on a small table a little way down from the fabric stall. Rose rushed over and held up a small trinket, which looked like a cross between an incense burner and an old-fashioned rouge pot.  

The Doctor followed her, putting on his glasses, he leaned over to peer over her shoulder. "It's called bezulium. It changes temperature depending on the weather, heats up for warm weather, cools down for cold. Also changes colour, depending on the amount of precipitation about to fall."  

"Really? That's fantastic. Mum will love that." She took it from him and examined it closely. The metal was warm in her hand. "It's hot, so that means it's going to stay clear right, like you said earlier? No more storms?"   

He didn't reply, just glanced at her and then looked abruptly away. Her stomach gave a nervous flip-flop and she opened her mouth to ask him another question, but he turned from and her and began to talk very quickly to the vendor selling the bezulium. A spark of fear began to burn in her heart as she watched the Doctor barter with the vendor. He hadn't answered her question, and that scared her more than she wanted to admit. She watched him pull something small and bronze out of his pocket and hand it over to the woman behind the table, who took it gladly.

He turned back to her, gesturing at the bezulium. "All yours. A gift to be presented to Ms. Jackie Tyler from her honourable daughter Miss Rose Tyler."   

She shook off her anxiety and dropped him a clumsy curtsey. "Thank you, Sir Doctor." They grinned at each other for a moment, but their smiles faded quicker than they had before. A shadow flitted across the Doctor's face and Rose looked up into the sky. A thin layer of clouds had begun to move up from over the horizon, masking the sky with muted groupings of shadows and glazing over the sun's rays with a dim haze. She looked back down at the bezulium in her hand, it was still warm, but she thought its polished silver exterior looked a little duller than it had before, as if it were on the verge of shifting colours. She thrust it towards the Doctor, putting a smile on her face, in a desperate attempt to regain her earlier good mood. "Can you keep it in your pocket for now, please? I don't have anything to carry it in."   

He took the trinket from her; slipping it into his pocket, he reclaimed her hand. "Remind me to make you some pockets that are bigger on the inside. I don't want to be your cart horse forever," he teased good-naturedly. He paused, looking down at her, as the implication of what he just said fully sunk into them both. Forever. He had used the word forever. It was a slip, a simple turn of phrase. To anyone else it would have meant nothing, a careless promise tossed to the wind, but for him, well forever meant something else entirely. Rose didn't think that she had ever even heard him use the word before, and her heart skipped a beat, as she looked up into his soft brown eyes. He opened his mouth to say something more, to make light of the moment, pass it off as a joke, cover it up with a ramble or as typical Doctor blunder, but she stopped him by squeezing his hand. For a brief moment, she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, bright blonde strands spilling across brown pinstripes.

He led her forward, and she did her best to forget her anxiety as they continued to wander through the bazaar. If a storm _was_ coming, they _would_ weather it together. They had faced down ghosts, revolutionary clockwork robots, Cybermen, and the Daleks. They had lay in fields of apple grass and danced to Glen Miller while bombs fell from the sky. He had stood face to face with the Devil and she had looked into the heart of Time. They could certainly triumph over a bit of rain. Satisfied with her justifications, Rose took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, letting her apprehension seep slowly out of her.

After a few moments of walking, they rounded a corner and slowed abruptly. This section of the bazaar was strangely quiet. Many of the booths and stalls were shut up or just oddly deserted. They turned left down the next aisle, and the Doctor pulled Rose to an abrupt halt, letting go of her hand and grasping her elbow tightly. In front of them was a large group of people surrounded by about twenty rhinoceroses dressed completely in black leather, or at least that's what they looked like upon first glance. Their heads were overly large, mottled wrinkly skin molded and folded around two large horns, which sprouted upwards from the center of their bumpy foreheads. They had broad shoulders, made wider by thick black shoulder pads. Their bodies were comparatively slim, when held against the size of their heads, but still obviously well muscled underneath their layers of tough looking armor. Perhaps the oddest thing about them though, was that they had hands, hands with five very humanlike fingers, where one would (after observing the very rhinoceros like qualities of their heads) generally expect hooves.

Rose took all of this in within in a matter of seconds, trying very hard not to be astonished by the sight of horned mammals dressed up as amped up versions of Xena Warrior Princess. She switched her attention back to the group of people. They were all sizes, all species, all ages. She could make out children as well as elders, she even caught sight of the blue Cressapalion the Doctor had so rudely pointed out the previous day. All of the people in the line were silent, their eyes cast discreetly towards the ground, as if they were afraid to make a noise or even glance upwards.

Every so often the group would shuffle forward and then come to a stop again. The lead rhinoceros (Rose wasn't sure what else to call them) would hold up a small metal device to someone's head. There would be a flash of blue, and then that person would be added to the group of detainees. There was no resistance, not even a whisper of opposition from the crowd. This surprised her. Obviously these 'rhinoceroses' held some sort of authority over all these people, but what kind? Were all these people guilty of something or was this just a part of everyday life at the bazaar?

"What are they?" She whispered, leaning in towards the Doctor.  

"Judoon." His voice was serious and low, tinged with dislike.  

"Judoon?" He didn't respond, just kept looking at the Judoon, his lips pursed in a thin line of disapproval, his eyes dark. "Doctor?" she tried again.

"Hmmm?"  

"_What_ are Judoon?"  

"Oh." He ran a hand through his hair. "Mercenaries for the Shadow Proclamation." Looking over at her, he noted her confused expression. "_Posh_ Police." He leaned forward on his toes, looking away from her, his voice suddenly lighter and more playful, as he tried to diffuse the situation. "A _platoon_ of _Judoon_. That has a rather nice ring to it, platoon of Judoon. What if there were a _platoon_ of _Judoon_ upon the _moon_? Can you imagine?"

"The Shadow Proclamation? You mentioned them before, the first time we met… you said something about the Shadow Proclamation to the Nestene Consciousness that made it upset. You said it was breaking the law." She struggled to remember more, but that particular memory was full of equal parts fiery fear and foolhardy determination, and she had lost his exact words somewhere in the haze of her memory.

He nodded. "That's right. The Shadow Proclamation. It's a bit like your United Nations, lots of planets and star systems bound together to form one government. They're in charge of intergalactic law and regulation. The Judoon are their henchmen. Not the smartest henchmen mind you, but they're clever enough to be a nuisance."

Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Well, what are they doing here?"  

"Don't know." He latched back onto her elbow and began pulling her away. "Come on, back to the TARDIS." 

She dug her heels in, astounded. Back to the TARDIS? They _never_ went back to the TARDIS. "Wait... what? You always want to get involved. You're _Mr_ Involvement. Captain of the Stick-Your-Nose-in-Where-it-Doesn't-Belong-Brigade…."  

"And you're _Dame_ Jeopardy Friendly, so this time we are going to let that _platoon_ of _Judoon_ do what the Judoon do, and _you_ are going to go back to the TARDIS." Rose blinked in shock, looking at him as he had suddenly grown two heads in addition to the one he already had. He gazed back at her calmly, his expression reserved.

Deciding to ignore him and his strange behavior, she shook off his grip and whirled back towards the center of the street, "What is it exactly that the Judoon do?" she asked, craning her head around to see what was going on. Her thoughts were going a thousand miles a minute, trying to think of possible ways to question the people in Judoon's group of prisoners or even question the Judoon themselves. It took a few moments for what he had said to sink into her consciousness, but when it did, she ripped her gaze away from the Judoon and turned angrily to face him. "Wait a second, what do you mean _I'm_ going back to the TARDIS? What are you going to do?"   

"Oh well, I thought I might ask around… See if anyone knew anything interesting." He looked chagrined, and tugged awkwardly at his ear.

"You mean you're going to lock me up and then run off and have all the fun yourself?" She snorted. "Not likely." She stared angrily at him and he returned her gaze until he broke eye contact, looking off at some point over her head.

"Rose," his voice was softer now, imploring, "The Judoon mean business. If they've even bothered to come here, it means something is happening on an intergalactic level." He turned his head back towards her, "They're mercenaries and they take their job very seriously, often brutally so."

"_So?_ That just means we'll have to be a bit sneaky. You can't tell me you mean to just let them herd all of those people off?" She twisted and boldly reached a hand into his jacket pocket, fishing for the psychic paper. He started to pull away, but she had already grabbed hold of the slim leather billfold.

"Rose." There was a note of warning in his voice, which she resolutely ignored. She would not let him send her away again, not this time, not ever. If he wasn't going to do anything about this situation, she would. Psychic paper in hand, she walked confidently - well, as confidently as possible on legs that felt like they were composed of jelly, up to the nearest Judoon. Peeking at the physic paper, she held it up to its leathery face.

"Hello. I'm the Chief Inspector of -" She glanced at the paper again, " - IBB Sector 5, and these people are under my jurisdiction." She threw a glance over at the Doctor who had come up beside her, hands shoved in his trouser pockets, his expression resigned. "Oh, and this is my associate the Doctor. I'm the Chief Inspector, he's the Doctor, my… deputy, and we'd like to know just what is going on here. Where are you taking all these people?" She gestured awkwardly at the group of people in front off her, most of whom where now looking at her, surprised expression plastered across their faces. The Judoon looked down at her, his small black eyes unimpressed. He held up the small device that she had seen him using earlier and placed it in front of her forehead. A bright blue flash temporarily blinded her.

"Human." The Judoon's voice was rough and rumbling as he reached down and marked a black x on the back of her hand. "You will be held in a safe location until this investigation is over."

She blinked, still seeing light spots from the flash of what she know assumed was some sort of genetic scanner. "Wait, what? But I'm… umm… the Chief Inspector?" Her voice sounded unconvincing even to her own ears and she felt a blush begin to creep up her neck.

The Doctor leaned forward to whisper into her ear, "Rose, psychic paper doesn't work on the Judoon."

"Oh, well you could have told me that before," she hissed back at him, throwing a weak smile at the Judoon in front of her, who returned her gaze, completely unmoved.

The Judoon turned to the Doctor, pointing the scanner at him. The Doctor didn't react, just stood unmoving as the Judoon pressed a button. There was another flash of blue and then another flash as the Judoon pressed the button again, his thick lips curling up with displeasure. The Judoon lowered the scanner. "The scanner cannot identify your genetic makeup. You will be taken in for further questioning."

The Doctor pursed his lips. "Taken where, exactly?"

"To our temporary headquarters, sector 7b," the Judoon replied. His voice sounded like metal scraping over stone.

"Right. Well, lucky for you that's just where I was headed." The Doctor's voice was bright and cheery, causing Rose to look at him oddly. She knew that voice - that was the tone he used when he was laughing in the face of danger - that was his _bravado in times of peril_ voice. He turned towards her, hesitating a moment, but then speaking quickly. "Rose, go with them, and stay put wherever they put you. I'll come and get you as soon as I know what's going on."

Her heart leapt into her throat and her mouth fell open a little. "Are you _serious_?" He had never willfully separated himself from her. Well he had once, he had shut her in the TARDIS and sent her home… but on that particular occasion they had been surrounded by an army of Daleks. Surely this wasn't as serious as that?

He shrugged, his body language was nonchalant, but his eyes were overly bright with some suppressed emotion. "Yeah, sure, safest place in the universe, Judoon prison. You'll be fine."

Rose felt the blood drain from her face as she looked from him to the imposing Judoon standing behind him. "But what about _you_?"

He shrugged again, "Oh, I'll be alright, always am." The Judoon directed her into a long line of people that were being marched off. The Doctor began to walk away, flanked on either side by Judoon soldiers, his long coat flaring out behind him. He turned back, briefly meeting her annoyed gaze and shouting back at her, "And don't go wandering off!"

She started to rush forward in order to follow him, a thousand objections to his stupid plan bubbling up inside her, but a Judoon stepped in front of her and looked down at her with dark and indifferent eyes. She swallowed nervously and stepped back into the crowd of people, her eyes darting around for any kind of escape route. There was none and she fought back a surge of panic. She craned her head, standing on her tiptoes to peer around the Judoon, getting one last look at the Doctor's retreating back for her trouble. He was sending her away - again. Trying to keep her safe, wrapping her in swaddling wool, and this time he was sending her to prison. Stupid man, stupid alien, stupid… stupid git! She whirled away from his rapidly disappearing figure and the imposing presence of the Judoon, refocusing on her own surroundings.

She was in a group of about forty people, varying in age and species, with no visible unifying factors. Ten Judoon hemmed in the group, and they herded the prisoners forward at a snail's pace, stopping at each tent and table in order for the Judoon to scan the occupants. More and more people were being added to the group, swelling the ranks of prisoners to around sixty. Rose allowed herself to be pressed into a far corner on the outskirts of the gathering of people, still looking for a possible escape route.

Something brushed against her shoulder and she turned to find Garth - the vendor who they had met the day before - standing next to her, his red hat still perched atop his knobbly head. He nodded at her, gesturing from her to the Judoon, but she couldn't make out what he was trying to say. His face was impassive, green, and lumpy. He didn't seem to be panicking or even particularly alarmed at their current situation. Some of the tension eased out of her as Garth continued to try to communicate with her, but she still couldn't understand him. She tapped her forehead and shook her head no, hoping that he would understand. He stopped gesturing and gave her a smile, once again revealing rows of sharp teeth. She tentatively smiled back, and he nodded at her, patting her shoulder with one meaty green hand. She found the whole thing reassuring, somehow, and she felt a little better as Garth turned away from her, shuffling forward with the rest of the group.

Rose hung back, pressing herself into the shadows of the nearest tent as the Judoon stopped again. She watched them drag a man and his three children out of a tent; the man was yelling, gesturing wildly back towards the tent, he was shouting something about how he couldn't leave behind his elderly mother. The three children were crying, the youngest clinging tightly to the man's trouser leg. They were creating quite a stir, and the crowd around her started to grumble in mutinous undertones. She wasn't sure if they were grumbling about being prisoners or if they were just annoyed by the earsplitting wails of the three children. The Judoon nearest her moved up to help the lead Judoon scan the man and his family. Rose knew her only chance at escape had come and she quickly slipped deeper into the shadows, hiding behind an overturned table. She shuddered involuntarily as she suddenly caught a flash of vivid blue in the corner of her eye.

She whipped her head around, eyes tracing the colour to its origin. It was the butterfly. Vertigo washed over her, and she pressed a hand to her temple as a lightning bolt of pain shot through her head as memories of her dreams overlapped with her reality. Was she dreaming again? Had this whole day, the bezelium, the Judoon, been a dream? Was she asleep right now in the TARDIS or was she really crouching here watching the same butterfly from her dreams? It's blue wings glittered, gemlike in the pale sunlight and goose bumps covered her arms. It fluttered just in front of a deep red tent that was set a little farther back from the street than the other stalls and tables. The butterfly's gold antennae waved gently, as if beckoning her forward.

Glancing nervously back at the Judoon, she licked her lips. Her mouth felt dry and stale and her heart beat wildly against her ribcage. She had to make a decision, and quickly. Follow the butterfly and have a chance of finding out what was going on, find out whether she was really dreaming or not or rejoin the Judoon's prison group and patiently wait for the Doctor to come and collect her once the danger had passed. It wasn't really much of a decision, even though she knew that the Doctor would inevitably be upset with her afterwards. Well actually, upset was probably an understatement… he was going to be furious.

Never taking her eyes off the butterfly, she crept towards it. The Judoon were too busy with the yelling man and his crying children to take any notice of one wayward human, and she easily reached the tent where the butterfly was hovering. It was close enough to touch now; she could see the tiny, featherlike feelers on its antennae. Its eyes were a startling shade of red. "What are you?" she whispered, tentatively reaching out a hand to touch the insect. It dodged her fingers, and flew through a small gap in the tent. She swallowed nervously and followed, pushing aside the flap of fabric that served as a door.

The tent was small and dimly lit. The only light came from a flickering kerosene lamp, which sat on a small square table in the middle of the room. She had seen that type of lamp before. Déjà vu washed over her. It was the same lamp or at least the same type of lamp that had lit the room of artifacts and knick-knacks in her dream. The air in the tent smelled stale, and the ground beneath her feet was bare soil, packed hard and flat. There were no other entrances or exits as far as Rose could tell. She looked around for the butterfly, but it had disappeared. She was alone. Clenching her fists to keep her hands from trembling, she walked forward, towards the lamp in the center of the tent. Her muscles felt tight and strained and that strange instinctive feeling she often got in the pit of her stomach intensified. Danger. Trouble. Something was wrong here. She shivered, despite the fact that it was actually quite warm inside the tent. Maybe she had made the wrong decision. Maybe she should just go back to the TARDIS and wait for the Doctor…

She was about to turn around and go back outside when a pair of strong arms grabbed her from behind. She struggled and cried out, gasping for breath, as her air supply was cut off by an iron grip. Taken totally by surprise, there was little to do to overpower her captor. She futilely kicked backwards, hoping to hit a sensitive shin, or at least throw her attacker off balance. Her attempts at resistance where cut short as something sticky and damp was pressed against her face. She choked on noxious fumes, her vision starting to tunnel inwards towards blackness. The last thing she saw was a pair of delicate wings, flashing blue fire in the mounting darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

Finally... Part 7. So sorry for the long delay.

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Rose woke. Her head felt like it had been split open with a particularly sharp pickaxe and her mouth tasted stale and medicinal. She ran her tongue over her teeth and swallowed trying to clear away the sour flavour. Light and dark spots, a shimmering haze of shadow and highlight, danced in and out of her vision, making her feel as if she were swimming underwater. It took her a few moments of repetitive blinking to clear her sight and take in her surroundings. She was in a small room, smaller even than her old bedroom back at the Powell Estates. The walls were draped out of red fabric, much like the walls of the tent she had just been in. There were no windows; only a wooden door, oddly set into the fabric wall. She blinked again and tried to refocus on her surroundings. The outside edges of her vision were blurry now, making her feel as she was looking down a long corridor.

The floor was dirt, covered by an ancient-looking, frayed rug that might once, perhaps, have been beautiful, but now just looked faded and ill-used. She was lying on a small bed. Well, a cot really, just a thin mattress spread over a rusting, wrought-iron frame. A small kerosene lamp on the bedside table spilled smoky, flickering light across her surroundings. The light didn't travel far from its source, causing shadows to gather like puddles of spilled ink in the deep recesses of the room. Sitting up abruptly, Rose immediately regretted the decision. Her head whirled and her stomach flipped violently. Choking back nausea, she pressed her forehead to her knees and waited for the room to stop spinning. After a few moments of deep breathing, Rose uncurled herself and stood on wobbly legs in the centre of the room. She wondered briefly if the Doctor had realised yet that she wasn't where she was supposed to be, or if he was still busy with the Judoon. She bit her lip, thinking about the Doctor's possible reactions to her disappearance. He was going to be irritated, followed quickly by worry and then he was going to be very very angry. At the moment, she wasn't sure who he was going to be angrier with, her or whomever was behind this.

Noticing an old-fashioned washstand pushed into the far corner of the room, she stumbled over to study the chipped porcelain jug and basin. She tentatively lifted the jug, watching a clear stream of water pour into the basin with thirsty eyes. She only hesitated a moment before cupping the water in her hands and tipping it down her dry throat. After drinking her fill, she splashed the rest on her sticky face and pushed her hair off her forehead and away from her eyes, so that she could have a better view of the room. Her gaze ran over red fabric of the walls, stopping abruptly as she noticed something pinned into the wall above the cot she had been laying on. She suddenly felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of icy water on her head; chills ran down her back and her arms. Rose moved, as if in a dream, slowly closer, only vaguely aware that her heart had started to beat frantically in her chest.

It was the butterfly. It was always the butterfly. It had hovered through her dreams, been present or near while she had seen and heard and felt all those horrible things. She had seen it in the market and it had been in the tent right before she had been brought here. This butterfly had been skewered to the wall above the cot, a silver pin thrust cleanly through its golden torso. Its blue wings glimmered in the diffuse light, a marked contrast to the blood red of the fabric walls. It was obviously dead, displayed on the wall as if it were part of someone's insect collection. She shivered and backed away. Nothing had been right since she had started having those dreams. All of her recent awkward interactions with the Doctor, all her pent up longing, all of her insecurities about her future seemed somehow seemed pinned to the dreams and to the butterfly.

Rose turned away from the eerie image of the butterfly and stepped up to the door. She wasn't exactly a novice at being held prisoner and she knew the door would probably be locked (prison doors generally were), but it was worth a try. She placed her hand on the cool metal of the door handle and turned. To her surprise, the knob twisted easily in her hand. The door opened and she stepped out into a corridor. The walls made of the same deep red fabric as the room she had just come from. The hallway was long and deserted, set sporadically with wooden doors that marched down the corridor like a row of battered soldiers. The passageway was dimly lit, much like the room she had just come from, but here she couldn't tell where the light was coming from. For a reason she couldn't quite put her finger on, it reminded her vaguely of the lighting in the TARDIS.

Standing in the hallway, Rose wasn't sure where to begin. All of the doors looked the same and they couldn't all possibly be unlocked could they? Deciding that the best course of action would be just to try each door individually, she reached out and tried to open the closet door. It opened easily and she peered into another weakly-lit room. Her eyes widened in surprise, the room was full of white marble busts, both alien and human. They were piled around the room, sitting on the floor, arranged in curio cabinets. Some of the nicer ones had been set into wall niches. The smaller statues had been placed on simple wooden tables. The arrangement was haphazard as if someone had run out of room to place them all. There was hardly any floor space at all. Rose thought she recognized Julius Caesar, and maybe a large carving of William Shakespeare, although it was set back into a far corner, and partially obscured by the white silhouette of an alien with a myriad of gleaming blank eyes. It was odd seeing sculptures of humans intermingled with so many alien features. It looked like the storeroom of some sort of intergalactic museum.

The next room Rose tried was full of rusted sundials, cuckoo clocks, digital clocks, grandfather clocks, and baskets full of fob watches and wristwatches. Some of the time pieces looked quite old, whilst other looked incredibly advanced. It was strange to see them all in the same room, all of their numbers and hands pointing and blinking different times. She continued to move down the hallway, peering into rooms full of books, vases, ancient crumpling amphorae, one room was full of porcelain dolls, glass eyes peering out at her from under matted ringlets. All of the rooms were lit the same, with one or two kerosene lamps, or in some cases low burning candles set in shallow bowls. Rose wandered vaguely, why all the rooms, except the hallway, were lit this way. Why were there only kerosene lamps or candles? Why wasn't there any electricity or plasma power or any of the other variations of light that she had seen in her travels? There had to be some explanation for it.  
   
Unbidden, in the midst of her discoveries, an ineffable comparison arose in her mind between these rooms and the old army base in Utah that she had visited with her first Doctor. In Utah, everything had been placed under glass cases. It had all been carefully tagged and catalogued. Everything was clean and efficient. In this places the rooms were crammed full, but almost lovingly so, as if each piece had its own unique spot, despite the clutter. It had not been like that in the army base; that place had been cold and sterile, filled with the whir of filtered air and the heavy clank of military boots. There the man who had collected alien artefacts had wanted them for the power they could bring him. Here… well, this place felt different. This place was loved. She shivered abruptly and goose bumps rippled across her arms. Maybe, this place was loved too much. She wasn't sure why, but she knew it was true... these things, this place, everything was off somehow.

The hallway seemed to go on forever, an unwavering corridor clothed in red, the colour of dried blood. She felt dislocated, not only because she was a trapped in a strange place, but also because there was nothing to ground her. There were no windows, no sounds, no smells beyond stagnant air and the musty smell of dust and the tang of decay. She was floating in space. The odd thing was that she had spent the last two years of her life floating in space... but before – well - the Doctor had always been there, hadn't he? Before, when she was overwhelmed or missing home or so happy that her heart had felt it might burst from sheer joy, she had had his hand to hold. He was her anchor, and now she was lost, drifting, alone, in this strange shadowy place. All around, her dreams were mixing with reality. The macabre image of the butterfly pinned above the cot she had been lying on, the ominous feeling in the pit of her stomach.... all of it made her head ache and her thoughts sluggish.  
   
She forced herself to move on. She had to find a way out and the best way to do that was to the open each door, marking off the possibilities for escape. The next room she came too was full of animal pelts. Most of the furs were dark, thick with long shaggy hair that captured both light and shadow in their thick depths. The majority of them were piled up on the bare floor, but a few had been hung up carefully, like tapestries, on the walls. She took another step forward and abruptly recoiled as her gaze caught what was hanging on the wall across from her. A large wolf head was mounted onto the far wall. Taking several steps back, her mouth opened in a strange silent cry as the wolf's glassy, dead eyes caught the light of the single sputtering lamp and became alive again, something strange and powerful flickering in its gaze. She couldn't move, her feet were pinned to floor. It was room full of wolf pelts. All wolf pelts.

She couldn't take her eyes away from the wolf's smooth flat gaze. She was caught up, mesmerized. Something, swirling, angry, golden, burning, came to life in her stomach. It rushed its way up her throat, across her tongue, and tried to force its way over her teeth. Rose bit back the snarl, turned on her heel and fled the room. She could feel the eyes of the wolf on her back, searing their way through muscle and bone. She quickly shut the door and leaned up against it. Swallowing hard, she clenched and unclenched her fists, waiting for the burning in her stomach and throat to subside.

Who had brought her here? And why? Why let her wander around so freely? Why show her all these things? She was confused, muddled by the dim lighting, the eerie feeling of familiarity, the after effects of whatever drug had been used on her, and a desperate longing to see the Doctor. She desperately wanted to see him, to lace her fingers through his and apologise for everything that had happened in the library two days ago and in the market... not because she thought she had been wrong, but because she wanted everything to go back to the way it was before. She wanted to hear his voice. She wanted to be laughing with him in the TARDIS, curled up on the jump seat with his arm wrapped securely around her shoulders. She wanted him to tell her that it would all be all right. But he wasn't here and he didn't know where she was. She had no doubt that he would find her eventually, but that could be days away. For all she knew, it had already been days. For the first time in a very long time, since the day she had run into the TARDIS grinning and happier than she had ever been, she was on her own.   
   
She bit her lip hard to stop herself from crying, and pushed herself off the wall. She reached out to open the next door. It swung open and she got a good look at what was in the room. She blinked in shock, stumbling backwards and landing with a hard, undignified thump on her backside. The whole room was covered in butterflies. Butterflies, pinned to the walls, to the floor, to the ceiling, their bodies pierced with delicate silver pins. They had all been placed carefully against one another, in perfect lines, as if they were all on display in a glass case. Their wings and bodies formed shifting layers: indigo, navy, cerulean, gold, sapphire, cobalt and aquamarine. They covered the whole room, enveloped it, devoured it in tiers of paper thin wings and delicate antennae. The light winked stubbornly off their tiny dead red eyes and she quickly swung the door shut with her foot, scuttling backwards until she hit the hallway wall. For a moment she remained on the floor, her head and back throbbing.

She felt defeated, lost, and immensely alone. She was set adrift in an endless wilderness of red fabric, wooden doors, and rooms full of items that she couldn't understand. It was grotesque, a twisted snarling mass of dream and reality. She set there a few minutes more, her face and throat burning with unshed tears. Clenching her jaw in determination, she stubbornly climbed to her feet, standing on trembling legs. She would find a way out of here. She would find her way back to the Doctor. She needed him and he needed her, and she would fix this. She would set things right and get herself out of this mess, or whatever was this was that she had blundered into.  
   
She moved down the hallway and opened the next door. She was badly frightened now, even more so than before and once again she began to wonder if any of this was real. She was looking into the room from her dream, the dream that she had had only last night. It was the same room, down to every detail. The room was over crowded. Before, all of the rooms she had looked into had been sorted by like items, but this room was the same jumble that she remembered. There were the same bins of old and scratched daguerreotypes, shadow boxes full of exotic insects pinned to cardboard, stacks of dog-eared books, piles of ancient scrolls, glass vases, a wall display of wicked sharp knives, and hundreds of odd alien tech devices that Rose still couldn't recognize. The room was as small as she remembered it, devoid of any furniture except a few overloaded tables pressed against the walls. But... she felt odd and the burning golden thing, which had reacted so violently in the room full of wolf pelts, became active again... it was that feeling again, just a tickle in the back of her mind saying that this place was bigger on the inside. She couldn't explain why she felt that way, she just very much knew that was how she felt.

Rose went into the room and then turned to face the door, something telling her to wait. The last time she had seen this room, someone had been in it with her. She shut her eyes and saw a flash of a red cloak, a beckoning hand, hundreds of butterflies, their bodies, their wings, pounding, pressing against her arms and face. Shivering she opened her eyes again and kept them trained on the open door. She didn't have to wait long. A figure appeared in the open doorway, and the golden feeling the in the bit of stomach intensified, until she felt surely that her insides must be glowing with white light.  
   
The figure moved forward, its voluminous red cloak trailing on the ground. It threw back its hood, revealing the face of a wizened old man. His skin was so thin that it was nearly translucent, she could even make out the blue veins running across his heavy eyelids. His glittering black eyes were lost in the deep papery folds of his face, and they stared out at her from under a pair of dark shaggy eyebrows with a feverish intensity. What hair he had framed his head in a diffused silver halo of frizz. His lips were thin, colourless, and slightly turned up at the corners; they twitched convulsively as if he were perpetually laughing to himself. He was slight and short, maybe an inch shorter then Rose.  

The old man stepped into the room, his eyes never leaving her face, "Oh, here you are, my dear. I did wonder where you had got off to. I've been expecting you." His voice was high pitched and as clear as a bell.

Rose simply stood there, her heart pounding, her stomach ablaze. The moment the old man had entered the room everything around her had sharpened, become less dreamlike, and her senses were trying desperately to catch up.

"I've been calling. It was very naughty of you to be so long about finding your way to me." He spoke to her as if she were a wayward child.

"Calling? You've been calling me?" she stuttered.

"Oh yes, oh yes." He started to hum a little and Rose got the feeling that he was very very happy about something, perhaps happier than he had been in a long time.

Rose took several step backwards, ramming her lower back into a table behind her, as a blue butterfly, identical to the ones she had seen pinned to the walls, fluttered into the room, and flitted around the man's head. "What the hell is that thing?" she asked instinctively, her hands clenching into fists.

"Oh!" The old man shook himself from his reverie. "Yes, I had forgotten." He held out a finger and the butterfly settled onto it. It was as if the insect was in his thrall. "This is a Dream Feeder. That is the closest that I can come to an exact translation of their name in their native language. They are a rare race, nearly extinct actually, the last of their kind. I rescued them from their home planet, Arcadia, where they were slowly starving to death. Now I breed and train them myself. They are beautiful, aren't they?" He had seemingly asked the question more of himself then of her and Rose didn't bother to respond. The man continued his monologue, "You see, they feed off the energy of dreams."  
   
A series of images flashed before Rose's eyes; a burning orange sky, a woman in grey, holding a leather bound journal in her hands, a man with blood on his shirt and on his hands, madness glittering in his pale brown eyes, Jack's voice whispering in her ear, a young girl dancing in the TARDIS, a grandfather stargazing on a lonely hill. "The dreams - my dreams. You… you sent me those dreams, you brought me here." She paused, her thoughts rebounding wildly against one another and then clicking into place. "You put all those horrible images in my head," she finished, her voice a horrified whisper.

The old man nodded. His pale cheeks were flushed pink with excitement. "Yes! Yes! Very good! I did send you the dreams. I sent a Dream Feeder to guide you!" He looked lovingly down at the butterfly perched precariously on his finger. "They are excellent astral projectors, capable of entering into nearly anyone's mind. The butterflies don't create the dreams, they only enhance them, make them more vibrant, so that it is easier for them to feed and easier for you to remember. That's part of their charm, all that lovely power packed into such an innocent package."

"They're parasites," Rose gasped, her eyes locking onto the butterfly. She suddenly understood why she had felt so drained, so exhausted, after each of her dreams, why the images had been so vivid, why the butterfly had been the one constant through each of her nightmares.

He shrugged, "I suppose some might call them parasites, but they seldom cause any lasting damage. I sent them to you because I knew you would see them in your dreams and then be tempted to follow one here. But as for whatever or whoever you saw in your dreams… " He shrugged again, carelessly. "Well - you had already seen all of that."  
   
Rose shook her head, anger and fear battling for dominance inside of her. "What does that mean, already seen? What had I already seen? And why choose me?"

Surprise and then disappoint passed over his face. "But I thought that would be obvious! Your head is full of beautiful things. Unique things. You've seen timelines, altered timelines, created timelines and you don't even know it. You're mind is full of wonderful events, people, places, both past, present, and future." As he spoke his voice became lower, almost reverent, as if he were revealing some arcane secret. His dark eyes glittered strangely. "You glow. You burn like the sun." The last sentence had come out in a hiss and he crept several steps closer to her, as if her own personal gravity was sucking him in.   
   
Rose tried to take another step back, avoiding his fervent gaze, but she had retreated as far she could, and now stood pressed up against the far wall. She struggled to sift through his words, but none of it made any sense. Panic broke over her, and her eyes darted past the man and out the door, searching desperately for an escape route. But how could she escape when she had no idea where she was? She forced herself to look the man in the eye, "What is this place?"   
   
His eyes burned brighter ever brighter, until she thought that they would absorb all the light in the room, twin black holes burning in the deep hollows of his face, widening to devour the universe. She had a sudden vision of the black hole hanging above Krop Tor. "This is my home. My home is full of wonderful things, almost as many as in your mind. When you first came to this planet, nearly two days ago now, I could feel your mind." He paused, as if to savour the memory and then continued, "So unique! So colourful, as varied as a butterfly's wing. So powerful," His gaze sharpened, his voice once again became lower, sonorous. "I knew I had to have your energy." 

Rose was pinned against the wall, unable to move from shock and fear. Another wave of panic, washed icy cold over her, and she fought to keep her hands from trembling. "My energy?"

"Yes! Exactly. With the power of your mind, I could run my compound for years!" He gestured wildly around him and the shadows in the room flickered, casting charcoal coloured shadows across the angles of his face. "I could even expand!" 

Rose shook her head in disbelief. How could this be? The Doctor had said it was impossible, impossible for anyone else to have that kind of technology. "This place… it's bigger on the inside?" She suddenly didn't need him to answer her question, she already knew the answer. She had known since she had had the second dream. She had even voiced her fears to the Doctor without know their importance. That strange feeling lurking in the corner of her mind, the odd disproportionate feeling too all the rooms that made her think of the TARDIS... it all made sense now.

He nodded his head, and some how she got the feeling that he was pleased that she had caught on so quickly to his great secret. "Yes, of course How else would I store my collection?" 

She hesitated, searching frantically for the right questions, her generally pragmatic mind pushing into overdrive. "How… how did you get the technology?"

He shook his head, chuckling to himself. "I told, you I'm a collector! Not only of rare artefacts but also of knowledge, of machinery! I came across this ship many years ago now… when I was still a young man barely out of adolescence. I had travelled to the planet Arcadia, hoping to find a few artefacts of that lost civilization. Once there I not only discovered the Dream Feeders, nearly wiped out, I also found this place, hidden under a fall of loose rock. I soon deduced that it was some sort of spacecraft, abandoned on the surface of that lonely planet. I studied it for years, wandering the dimly lit corridors searching for anything that would help me learn more, but I found nothing..." He was lost in memory now, and his eyes had dimmed somewhat, foggy with recollection. "I found nothing, nothing but books I was unable to translate. The ship was badly damaged. Its power cells were nearly drained, and soon I found that the interior of the ship was shrinking. A room that had been there just the week before would suddenly disappear. I knew I had to do something, save it somehow, because I could use it." He took another step towards her, his long red cloak dragging across the ground. 

Rose shook her head again, trying to follow is explanation.  
   
"Don't you see?" he cried. "It's become the perfect place to store my collection! I had the ship transported here to the bazaar, where I could continue to study its inner workings and continue to acquire new artefacts. Over the years I've been able to mould the technology to fit my needs, disguising the ship as only another tent in the bazaar. But the original power supply grows weaker every day. The whole place is shrinking." His eyes regained their maddened glow, sharpening again as he looked at her. "The lights and the temperature controls, no longer work. I've had to resort to primitive means…" He paused here to gesture at the single kerosene lamp in the room. "I've never been able to find a compatible power supply. I had resigned myself to watching my collection become jumbled, like this room, and then fade away… until two days ago…".  

"Two days ago when I came here…" Rose whispered, another puzzle piece clicking into place.

"Yes, two days ago, when you came here." The man smiled at her, his thin lips twisting upwards. "The ship felt your presence right away, alerted me and then I sent the Dream Feeders out to lure you in… and here you are!"

Rose's eyes narrowed, and she felt a surge of anger rise up from her stomach, "And now you want to hook me up to your… ship, like a battery, and drain me till I'm dry."

He frowned, the corners of his thin dry lips twisting downwards abruptly. "There's no need to be crude dear. Would you like some refreshment, a drink perhaps?" His voice had become kind again, his eyes no longer gleamed with frenzied light. "Tea? I know humans are so fond of tea."

His calm demeanour was unnerving and Rose shook her head shocked at the abruptness of the offer.

He shrugged, as if to tell her that it was her loss, and then turned and began to shuffle towards the door, apparently satisfied with her for the moment.

He was almost across the threshold when Rose whispered, her voice laced with steel, "The Doctor will find me." She had no doubt now that he would. The Doctor would find her and she would see this old man tremble in fear.

He turned back to face her, his voice still gentle, but there was a hard edge to his expression that had been missing a moment before. "The Doctor? Who is that?" His tone was nonchalant, but his face was taunt with suppressed emotion. There was a new and odd gleam in his gaze. Rose wasn't sure if it was jealousy or anger.

"He'll find me, and he's not going to be happy with you." With each word she uttered, she felt a little braver, the memory of the Doctor and her feelings for him, rose up in her and bolstered her courage.

The manic light returned to his eyes and he leapt forward, clenching her wrist in a vicelike grip, and pressing a gnarled hand to her temple. "Ah, the Doctor! Your companion. Oh! A Time Lord!" He stopped to think, his fingers pressing hard into her head. She wriggled away from the pressure and he let her go. "You travel with a Time Lord, how fascinating! I thought they had been wiped out, but no!"

Rose cradled her wrist gently in her hand. She could already start to see the bruises forming from where he had gripped her, deep purple blooms began to blossom against her pale skin.

The old man continued, "He must keep himself well shielded. I detected no trace of him until now, it's a wonder he did not think to do the same for you, but he's never even looked into you mind has he?"

She didn't answer and the old man continued his assumptions. "You travel with a Time Lord, a great telepath and he's never even let himself look into your beautiful mind. What a pity... But I have found that we often have a blind spot concerning the things we love." He stepped backwards, retreating towards the door again. "Well, no matter, he may search for you, but he won't find you."

"He will." Rose's voice was hard and matter of fact. 

The old man's eyes narrowed, studying her face carefully. Finally, he shrugged. "No matter, even if he does find his way here, there is no escape. I will add him to my collection as well, but I dare say you are the true prize. I would much rather have the only something in creation, rather than the last."


	8. Chapter 8

One more part and an epilouge and this story is finito.

_The old man's eyes narrowed, studying her face carefully. Finally, he shrugged. "No matter, even if he does find his way here, there is no escape. I will add him to my collection as well, but I dare say you are the true prize. I would much rather have the only something in creation, rather than the last."_

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Rose wasn't sure how long she had been staring up at the red ceiling. She wasn't sure how long she had been laying on the cot or how long it had been since she had last seen a colour besides red. She wasn't sure of how much time had passed since she had held the Doctor's hand or rested her head on his shoulder. She was having a hard time remembering the feel of sunshine on her face and she couldn't quite recall the timbre of her mother's voice.

She _was aware_ of the fact that it was oppressively quiet in the room; the only sound was the shallow rasp of her breathe as it rattled in her throat and the irregular reverberation of her heart in her chest. She was aware of the rusty spring that had worried itself free from the thin mattress beneath her and was now poking uncomfortably into her lower back. And she was aware of the wavering shadows that were pooled like puddles of dark water in the far corners of the room. But she couldn't recall the exact blue of her first Doctor's eyes, and the words to her mother's favourite poem were now slipping, sliding, from her memory...

Time must be passing, must have passed, but Rose wasn't sure. She thought she could feel time moving, breaking over her in amber coloured waves, but she herself remained still, a non- participant in the events that played out around her.

After her first conversation with the old man, he had left the room abruptly, leaving her, for the moment, to her own devices. Rose had wandered back out into the hallway on legs that felt weak and wobbly, like the gelatine they served to sick people in hospital. She had walked up and down the long red corridor, sticking her head into rooms full of artefacts that she hardly bothered to glance at, continuing to search for a way out, her clouded mind set on autopilot. She had felt numb with disbelief and the feeling only increased with every door she opened and then shut again. Part of her had screamed that none of this could be real, that it was all just another dream and that soon she would wake up and be back safe on the TARDIS. The other part of her, the more rational lucid part of her mind, knew even then that this wasn't a dream, it was real. She was trapped in a place where there where no windows and the doors only opened to reveal more doors, more dead ends.

Eventually she had ended up back in the room she had originally woken up in the day before, or was it the night before? She had avoided looking directly at the butterfly skewered over the rickety cot, and had quickly shoved the iron bed frame into the opposite corner of the room, as far away from the dead insect as possible. The thin mattress and rusty springs had groaned plaintively under her weight as she sat down. Whatever drugs the old man had given her had yet to wear off and she had been so tired felt so dizzy and nauseous. She had laid down on the cot, curling up on her side, resting her head on her arm, and then she had made the mistake of giving into the waves of black exhaustion that were washing over her. She had dreamt.

She had awoken with a start after an ambiguous amount of time, drenched in cold sweat. Leaning over the edge of the cot, she had been violently sick, the effect of her body trying to purge itself of all the drugs in her system. On the other hand, maybe she had been trying to rid herself of the nightmare, her body outwardly rejecting the visions that relentlessly paraded through her unconscious mind. She had dreamt of a sky full of zeppelins. It had been night and she had been standing outside looking up at the star and zeppelin strewn sky and she had been holding something heavy and lethal close to her body, held up by a thick strap over one shoulder. And violently, rapidly, the stars had started to go out. One by one those bright burning pinpricks of light were erased from existence, exterminated from the sky. It was as if a dark shadow had fallen over the Earth and Rose had been filled with dread. She had felt the fear and despair settle deep into her bones, a cold chill grasping her heart with a concrete grip. The butterfly had come, floating into her vision with a grace that belied its sinister purpose, and she had woken up and been sick. Then she wept and was sick again.

She didn't dare close her eyes after that and so she didn't sleep, not after that first time, she couldn't. Every time she even thought of closing her eyes, she would imagine seeing a flash of blue, a piece of wing. Soon after that, the old man had begun to come to her, seeking her out in her small sparsely furnished prison, bringing trays of food along with trays of needles. She ate whatever he gave her, thinking through the haze of her thoughts that she would need the strength to escape once the Doctor found her.

The old man utilized his needles well, keeping her constantly sedated, and eventually Rose had realized that even if she found some way to overpower him, she would never find a way of out this place on her own, not in her weakened physical state. It seemed as if as soon as she began to feel the effects of one sedative beginning to wear off, he was by her side with another needle. Her arms were layered with bruises; dark blossoms of livid purpled mottled over with petals of greenish yellow and speckled brown. The veins in the crooks of her elbows became swollen and painful to touch. Her body was never given a chance to recover its equilibrium and so her mind remained trapped in its slow dreamlike state.

Sometimes the old man would talk to her, ramble at her, telling her about the tests he was performing on the blood and DNA samples that he was constantly taking from her. He would tell her it would only be a matter of time before he made her into a compatible energy source. He was mad of course. She had known that right away. She had seen the madness in his eyes, the jump and flicker of two burning flames in the dark. Rose didn't know what he was, alien or human with some gift for telepathy. It didn't matter. His physical form had all but withered but his soul still burned strong and it lent iron strength to his frail body. Rose came to realize that all those years spent by himself, wondering the red halls, collecting things, anchoring himself to inanimate objects, talking to himself, wrapping himself in plots and nightmares; it had all driven him insane. He had looked into the heart of himself and had gone mad and now he wanted to do the same thing to her.

On one occasion he had appeared with some sort of machine, silver and long with multitudes of red wires and levers popping out sporadically across its surface. He had held her down and stuck sticky rubber cups onto her forehead and chest, attaching them to the machine's red wires. And then he had flipped the switch.

Rose's eye had snapped shut and her body had started to burn with a golden fire that started behind her eyes and spread all the way down to the tips of her toes. She had tried to scream then, might have succeeded if the gold fire hadn't burned away her voice. She had been awake but dreaming and she had looked into herself. She had burned, burned, like a bulb, like a flame, like a sun, like a star. And suddenly she had known all of the future and all of the past. She had opened her eyes and been back on Satellite Five, had seen the Doctor looking up at her with so much love and not a little bit of fear. She had felt powerful and bright. She could make everything new again, start everything over so that it turned out right. She had made herself, Bad Wolf, she could recreate herself. She was life and it had burned. It had hurt and she had writhed because suddenly she could feel the weight of time pressing down around her. She could feel the burden of too much knowledge weighing down her shoulders. Oh, it had hurt, scorched her heart, twisted her mind, burnt, so much that she could hardly bear to stand and the tears had streamed from her eyes. And she had felt the Doctor's cool lips against her own, felt his strong arms wrap around her waist. She had closed her eyes, leaning into him and the golden world had faded away.

She had opened her eyes again and found herself back in the red room, electrodes still clinging to her forehead and chest. The old man had looked at her with such longing, fear mingled with hate, and maybe a bit of jealousy.

"What did you see?" he had hissed at her.

She hadn't responded, and he had given her arm a hard pinch, digging his nails into her flesh.

"Tell me what you saw. Tell me what you are," he had hissed again, his black eyes had burned strangely in the flickering light of the room. They had reminded Rose of the hard black shells of beetles.

She had smiled at him, and forced a few words out of her burning throat:

_"And bending down, beside the glowing bars,  
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled  
And paced upon the mountains overhead  
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars."_

He had leaned away from her, his expression confused and a little wary, his thin lips twitching in distaste.

"It's Yeats," she had continued weakly, "And he'll come for me. The Doctor, he'll come."

He had pulled the wires from her skin and left the room in a temper, taking his smoking mangled heap of machinery with him. After that she had tried to rip the fabric off the wall in her room, thinking maybe she could claw her way out of the fabric walls and somehow miraculously tumble back out into the sunshine. She had worked resolutely scraping and pulling at the fabric with her fingers until she was winded and her knuckles were bloody with the effort. Underneath the first layer of fabric had only been another and then another. She had eventually given up and lain back down on the cot, her hands bleeding sluggishly, her eyes staring blankly up at the red ceiling.

Rose spent most of her rare moments of lucidity thinking about the Doctor. She missed him. She loved him. She knew that now, beyond any doubt. Left alone, stripped of pride and dignity, she had also been stripped of any self-delusions. She loved him. She had known it before, but it was easier to accept now. She had loved him since the day he had taken her hand in his and told her that he could feel the turn of the Earth. She was sure now that she would love him until her dying breath. It was a relief really, to finally know. She knew her future now. She knew that she would love the Doctor, whether they were apart or together. She also knew that perhaps her love would never be reciprocated in the same way. Marriage obviously was impossible for him, children as well. She didn't expect either. He may love her, and she was now sure that he did love her, but domesticity was an impossibility for him. There would be no white picket fence, no customary familial bliss. There could only be stars and planets, constant travel, constant joy and constant sorrow. And if the day came when they were separated either by death or choice or fate, then well, she would still love him. She knew that if came to it, if he had to decide between saving her and between saving the universe, the universe would win, had to win. And so Rose lay on the cot, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for something to happen. She didn't like it, this feeling of drugged helplessness, but she couldn't think her way out of it.

It took her awhile to remember the knives. The knives! She had seen knives, the closest thing to a weapon that she had seen in the godforsaken place. They were in the room where she had first met the old man, hanging on the wall. She could see them now, a wall display of wicked sharp metal, glinting in the flickering light of the kerosene lamp. She had barely glanced at them before, hardly even registered their presence, but she could see them now shining in her minds eye, a tiny glimmer of hope. She should have remembered earlier. Maybe if she could get a knife... well maybe it would help somehow. She wasn't sure she really had the strength left to hurt the old, nameless, man physically. He had proved remarkably hardy and quick, even though he looked frail enough. But maybe it would prove useful as a threat... and if all else failed, if things became too unbearable, or if the old man ever succeeded in his plans before the Doctor found her, well then – she could slit her own wrists and be done with it.

Rose rallied herself and rolled off the cot, hitting the floor with a heavy thump. She pushed herself up off the floor and stood on stiff legs, her head spinning as waves of vertigo washed over her. She made herself walk out into the red corridor. She rested against the wall. The wooden doors marched up and down the hallway, and she closed her eyes for a brief moment, trying to remember which door she had to open. The world spun and tilted and Rose kept her eyes shut. She opened them again, surprised, when a distant sound reached her ears. From a long way off she could hear singing. It was an eerie sound, a sad and wordless melody. It was the first sound she had heard besides the old man's voice since she had been brought here. Knives forgotten, a spark of curiosity bloomed in her heart and she pushed herself forward, following the music.

It was a struggle to stay on her feet, but she made her way down the hallway, leaning on the wall for support. She followed the faint echo of the song and came to another wooden door, one she was sure hadn't been there before, although there was no way she could tell for sure. She opened the door and walked in. The room was like every other, red fabric walls, dirt floor, dim light. There was only one lamp here, sitting on a rickety wooden table near the back wall. In the centre of the room was a console, a very familiar console. It was a little larger than the one she was used too and the lighting was wrong, shades of dark orange and muddy brown instead of teal and gold, but she still recognized it for what it was – a console, the heart of a TARDIS.

She stood there, reeling, for a few minutes before she took a few tentative steps forward. The song that had led her to the room had stopped and a heavy silence blanketed the small space. The console gave off no hum; there was no steady vibration, no sign of life besides the weak muddy light that emitted from what had to be the time rotor. Stumbling the last few steps towards the console, she ran her hands over the edge, studying the familiar scripted symbols. It was so dark, so lifeless and Rose was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. Anger, pity, grief, pain, anguish, frustration, all of them rose up inside of her, replacing the drugged numbness that she had become used too. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she whispered, stroking the console.

She was so exhausted, so very very tired, and she wanted to cry, but she didn't have the tears. Sinking down to the ground she leant her back up against the nearly dead console. She should have known that she had been in a TARDIS all along. Well, maybe part of her had known all along. It explained why she had felt that this place was so familiar, it explained how there could be so many rooms in a place that had appeared so small from the outside, it even explained to some extent why the old man thought she could possibly be a compatible energy source for his ship. The Doctor must have missed something when he took the power of the Time Vortex from her, there must have been some sort of residual energy left behind. That would certainly explain some of the strangeness of her dreams, explain why her dreams always seemed to be of the future or of the past. And this TARDIS must be so old, which explained why it was nearly drained of power, explained why there wasn't any artificial light and why all of the rooms had to be lit with lamps. All of the pieces were clicking into place and Rose closed her eyes. For the first time since she had been here she wasn't afraid of seeing a butterfly, maybe because she implicitly trusted in whatever power this TARDIS had left to keep her safe from the dreams that had plagued her. Rose sat there, cradled against the dying TARDIS and let the soft darkness of sleep tug her downwards into oblivion.

+

Something, a familiar sound, woke her up and Rose sat up, her head groggy. A voice had woken her up.

"Hello! Sorry to barge in on you like this, but I'm looking for someone, human, blonde hair, big brown eyes, cheeky smile? Goes by the name Rose Tyler?"

Rose woke fully and leapt to her feet, desperately trying to push her tangled hair out of her face. Wild joy and adrenaline surged through her body, serving to clear her mind a little of the drugged fog.

His voice, the Doctor's voice, was moving nearer and her heart jumped into her throat. "I hope you don't mind, but I've had a look around your ship. And I must say that you have quite the collection! More stuff than me even, and thats saying something, since I think it's safe to say that I'm quite a bit older than you."  
Tears that she thought had dried up began to run down her face as the Doctor came sauntering into the room, the old man following quickly behind him and outraged expression on his wrinkled face.

The Doctor stopped when he saw her. He was smiling, and she felt her own mouth turn up in an answering grin. He had found her. She studied him with hungry eyes. He looked horrible, thinner and deathly pale. There were deep shadows under his eyes and it looked as if he hadn't shaved in a week. His suit was far more crumpled than usual and his tie hung lose around his neck. "Rose Tyler!" he crowed, his voice bright as broken glass, "Long time no see!"

She shrugged, trying to get her racing heart under control, straining to keep her voice nonchalant and match his careless tone. "Well you know, I've been busy."

"I can see that." His eyes flashed down to her bruised arms and then back up to the dark circles that she knew had to be under her own eyes. His only visibly reaction was a brief spasm along the edge of his jaw and then his voice was chipper and teasing again. "Rose, I thought I told you lay off the drugs"

Rose shrugged again, "Addict, that's me."

"Hmm. Yes, well, we'll have to have a chat about that later." He threw her a conspiratorial wink and then turned back to the old man who was still standing behind him, mouth now hanging part way open. "Now as for you. I want you to know that I'm being very very calm about all of this. One, because I don't want to frighten Rose and two, because I'd like some incredibly honest answers as to how you happen to have acquired a TARDIS." He was angry, every line in his body screamed that he was livid, but he managed to keep his voice light and cheerful. Rose had seen it a thousand times before, but she didn't think she had ever seen him quite this close to breaking.

"A TARDIS?" The old man eyes flickered over the unmoving time rotor and then back to the Doctor.

"Yes, a TARDIS, stands for Time And Relative Dimension In Space, a really rather clever name, even if I didn't think of it myself," the Doctor, replied his voice still upbeat.

"A TARDIS," the old man breathed, realization and greed dawning in his gaze. "A Time Lord and a Time Lord's ship and a Time Lord's companion." He glanced over at Rose. "I could travel the universe; travel through time itself, my work, my knowledge, could live forever."

The Doctor took a step forward, skewering the old man with gaze, "Yes, well, I'm sure that prospect is very exciting for you. Unfortunately for you, the only place you'll be travelling to is a nice prison cell."

Rose spoke up, whispering from behind the Doctor, "He said he found the TARDIS on a planet called Arcadia... I don't... I don't think he ever knew what it really was. I think it's dying." She looked over at the dark time rotor. "He told me that he was going to use me as an energy source... And he hasn't said his name. I'm not sure he even has one."

"_Oh_, you are clever aren't you, kidnapping, smuggling, covering it all up. You've even managed to keep a dying TARDIS alive for... what hmmm... how many years now 60? 70? Come on tell me who you are, what your master plan is. Your type always has a master plan. Go on, gloat a little, you've earned it." The Doctor's voice was still cheerful but Rose could hear the dangerous edge in it.

The old man's eyes narrowed to black slits, studying the Doctor, examining every last detail. "We are the same you and I. I can see your life spiraling out around you. Pain, loss, grief beyond imagining. We are both nameless. No do not try to deny it," he interrupted the Doctor who had started to say something. "You may answer to _Doctor_, but that is not your real name, your real name is buried as deep as your past. We are the same, both homeless, both hungry. The only difference is that I admit it. You travel the universe, collecting knowledge, collecting companions, learning and rearranging time so that it will fit with your inflated sense of justice. I do not travel, I have time brought to me, artefacts, technology, people, and I study it and I look for answers, I look for patterns!"

His voice was undulating almost hypnotic as he continued, "In some ways, you are much worse than I am. I may use people, things, to get what I desire, but I never try to cover it up with emotion. I never try to hide behind right and wrong. I have never used love or justice as an excuse to get what I want. Can you say the same?"

"I don't kidnap people," the Doctor's voice was dangerously low, his back straight and rigid.

The old man shook his head. "No? Maybe not, but you use them just the same. Are you telling me you are not using her?" The old man gestured at Rose. "Are you really so blind? You use her everyday. You need her youth and her fresh outlook on life just as much as I need to know what she is, and how to use it. I want answers. I crave knowledge."

The two men looked at each other, their eyes locked, each studying what the other was. Rose watched and listened and she suddenly realized that this was what the Doctor could have become. The old man was who the Doctor could have been. The Doctor could have chosen to shut himself up after Gallifrey was destroyed. He could have cut himself off from the universe, stayed holed up in the TARDIS looking for answers to unsolvable riddles. He could have become callous and cruel and selfish, but he hadn't. He had kept going, kept feeling, kept living.

She spoke up. "Doctor." He seemed not to hear her, and she said his name again. "Doctor?" He turned to her; his eyes were dark, pitch black and endless and it worried her, frightened her even. "I want to go home." Her voice sounded very small, very faraway even to her own ears. When his expression softened and some of the light came back into his eyes as he looked at her, she let out the breath that she didn't even know she was holding.

"Excellent, well that means we'll be going now. The proper authorities will be here soon to take you into custody, now that I've lowered your protective shielding." The Doctor moved, reaching out for Rose, careful to grasp her wrist and not the more sensitive part of her arm.

The old man's face shifted as the Doctor moved, his features contorting in anger. "No, I don't think you will be going. You see I've waited a very long time for this. I've waited a lifetime for answers and now I have them. I not only have answers I have a time machine and a Time Lord and an energy source. No, I don't think you will be leaving. I think you will be staying for a very very long time." The man's voice was high pitched and horrifying.

Before the Doctor could respond, hundreds of blue butterflies erupted from the open doorway and flocked around the Doctor. The old man broke into manic laughter, jumping up and down in halting dance like steps. The Doctor wrenched and spun away, letting go of Rose's arm as the insects covered him completely.  
Rose watched, horrified, as the Doctor jerked forwards and then backwards again, his limbs flailing like a puppet whose strings had just been cut. He stumbled blindly into the table with the kerosene lamp and it crashed to the ground, the lamp flying into the air, kerosene splashing onto the red fabric walls. Time seemed to slow as the fabric wall went up in flames and Rose had to shield her eyes from the sudden burst of light.

The Doctor was still desperately trying to fight off the butterflies, his arms and legs thrashing and Rose's sluggish brain struggled to keep up, her eyes beginning to water from the smoke that was filling the room. Adrenaline surged through her and she ran over to the overturned table. She could feel the heat of the flames on her face and her hands. Breaking off the rickety leg of the table, she held it in the flames, making a makeshift torch out of the kerosene soaked wood. Rushing headlong towards the Doctor with the torch, she batted away the blue butterflies, struggling not to burn him. Faced with the heat of the torch, the insects scattered, some dropping to the ground. The Doctor straightened up, his eyes wild. The old man had broken off his victory dance when the room had caught fire and was now rushing around, flapping at the flames with his cloak, trying desperately to put out the spreading fire.

The Doctor grabbed Rose's hand, "Run, Rose!"

They sprinted out the door, followed by a cloud of thick smoke. Rose coughed, heaving for breath. The Doctor pulled her forward, barely giving her a chance to catch her breath. They came to a tent flap, set into the red corridor, and he pushed it open, revealing the quiet night-time street of the bazaar. He pulled her out the makeshift door, and it fell shut on the flames behind him. They stood in the middle of the deserted street, breathing hard. The smell and taste of smoke stuck in Rose's nose and throat and she bent over in a coughing fit. Smoke was starting to curl out of the tent that they had just left, flames licking the outside. Rose straightened up getting her breath back, breathing in deep lungfuls of clean air. "That TARDIS," Rose managed.

"She's too weak to put out the fire," the Doctor replied the light of the flames reflected in his eyes.

"And the old man?" she breathed.

The Doctor didn't reply and she reached out to him, her fingers slipping easily into his. He looked down at their intertwined fingers and then back up at the flames.

"No matter how hard I run, how far I travel I can't seem to escape it," he murmured.

"Escape what?"

He shrugged. "Loss, memory."

"Do you want to forget?" Rose asked softly.

He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes shadowed. She wondered if he could see her age, hear the rhythm of her heart beating out time like a clock, slowly counting down the moments until their inevitable separation. He brought a hand up to cup her cheek, and she leaned into him, savouring the feel of him, after what felt like an eternity apart. He carefully traced the line of her jaw and then the curve of her lower lip with a fingertip. "No, I don't ever want to forget, any of it, not a single moment."

Rose nodded and tugged him away from the fire, leaning heavily against his shoulder. She spared one last backward glance at the burning TARDIS and the flickering remains of her childhood.


	9. Chapter 9

This hasn't been beta-ed so please forgive any grammatical mistakes or any overt Americanisms. And OMFG I did it. I finished it!

Part 9

"Hello," Rose murmured as she stepped into the TARDIS kitchen. The Doctor was sitting at the kitchen table his feet propped up on a spare chair. He looked better than the last time she had seen him. He had showered and shaved and the dark circles that had been smudged under his eyes had started to fade. He was reading a book bound in a red leather cover.

"Hello." The Doctor smiled. Putting down his book and swinging his feet off the chair, he motioned for her to sit down.

"Hungry?" He asked leaning forward so that his elbows rested on the table.

"Yeah, starved, thanks."

Rose sat and the Doctor got up and started fiddling around in the cupboard. He got out a bowl and a spoon and then ladled out something hot and steaming from the pot on the stove top. While the Doctor was busy, she craned her neck to see the title of his book. "Yeat's?"

He grinned, "I was in the mood." Sitting the soup in front of her, he looked down at her amused as she looked up at him amazed.

"You made _soup_?" She had rarely seen the Doctor make anything. He generally preferred eating while standing in front of the console, sonic screwdriver in one hand and fork in the other. That kind of eating didn't usually make for a gourmet sit down dinner.

"I'm not completely helpless you know," he replied, sitting back down across from her, veiling his eyes with a familiar smile. "I _can_ manage to open a tin."

She smiled wanly and picked up her spoon. "Not drugged is it?" She asked lightly as she blew across the soup's amber surface, watching little curls of steam rise up and drift away.

The Doctor winced, his eyes flickering to the yellowing bruises on her arms and Rose cursed herself doubly, once for having a big mouth and again for not putting on a long sleeve shirt after she had gotten out of the shower. Their banter was almost painful, sharper than usual, but it still provided a certain kind of refuge – never stop to think or be quiet and still. If you talk fast and jest about everything... well then, things somehow hurt less and words have less impact, they roll off like water. That had been one of the first lessons she had learned from the Doctor and she had learned it well. If she didn't make jokes, if she let herself stop and think before she talked, she was afraid everything would fall apart. She was afraid _she_ would fall apart.

"Only with your thirty-two essential vitamins and minerals," he managed to respond cheerfully, his jaw ticking. "_Of course_, if I made the soup for myself I would have made sure that it had thirty-six essential vitamins and minerals _and_ I would have added some celery."

Rose nodded and changed the subject, skipping over a lecture on Time Lord genetic supremacy. "How long have I been sleeping?"

"3 days, 6 hours, and 32 minutes, give or take a few seconds," he replied nonchalantly enough, but his eyes glittered oddly, shifting with indecipherable thoughts and his mouth had turned down, abandoning its easy smile.

It was Rose's turn to wince. "3 days?"

"And 6 hours and 32 minutes," the Doctor supplied.

Rose thought about that, sipping at a few more spoonfuls of soup. She didn't remember much after they had returned to the TARDIS. Those memories seemed blurry and slightly cloudy, as if the smoke from the TARDIS fire had followed them back to their own TARDIS. She did remember that the Doctor had helped her to her room and made her get into bed. He had washed her arms and face and made her drink something that was hot, sweet, and slightly spicy. She had asked him to stay while she slept, afraid of having more nightmares, and he had agreed. The last memory she had was of him pushing the tangled hair off her face and gently kissing her forehead. And then she _had_ slept and it had been dreamless. Rose looked up from her soup and found the Doctor watching her intently. "And how long... was I... you know gone?"

He frowned and looked away. "6 days, 8 hours, and 19 minutes."

"Oh." She pushed back her bowl, leaving much of the soup uneaten. It was good, but her stomach still felt weak, and she didn't trust herself to keep it all down.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Better, thanks," she murmured automatically.

There was a moment of awkward silence, and Rose struggled for something to say. "Tea?" she asked brightly, plastering a stupid smile on her face and pushing herself to her feet. She almost fell back down again as her legs wobbled underneath her.

"Sit down, I'll make it." The Doctor admonished sternly, jumping up and going back to the cupboard, pulling down two mugs. "Rainbows or Mickey Mouse?" He turned and proffered her each of the mugs. Rose chose rainbows and the Doctor kept the Mickey Mouse for himself. He put the kettle on and turned to face her, leaning heavily against the counter.

"How did you find me?" she ventured, chewing absently on a fingernail, her brow furrowed.

The Doctor perked up a little as they entered territory that he was more comfortable with; he was excellent at explaining away impossible things. "I almost _didn't _but then I remembered what you had said."

Rose frowned. "What did I say?"

He grinned at her, managing to look a little smug at the same time. "That night you told me about your dreams, you told me that you felt that you were dreaming of a place that was _bigger_ on the inside. And like I said that night, it takes enormous amounts of energy to create something that is bigger on the inside. My people were the only ones to ever develop that kind of technology and thus it emits a very unique power signature. A power signature that is nearly untraceable – unless you happen to be _me_ of course."

"Of _course_." She grinned back at him for a moment and then her face fell in confusion. "But I still don't see what I had to do with it."

"But you were brilliant Rose! When you started having those dreams you honed in on the _one fact_ that would help me find you! If you hadn't told me," he frowned, "well, I wouldn't have known what to look for."

"Like a TARDIS," asserted Rose, surer of herself now.

"Yes, exactly." The Doctor smiled, pleased. "Once I put the pieces together, I started scanning the area for that unique power signature and finally stumbled across where you were. _He_ was very clever, I almost missed him. He had excellent shielding, but I managed to break through it."

Rose frowned. "I didn't think anything could get through a TARDIS' shields."

"Well, no not ordinarily, but I'm hardly ordinary Rose." He teased, winking at her.

She paused to think, still idly chewing on her fingernail. "And how did you get away from the Judoon? Why were they here?"

The Doctor shrugged. "It seems that you weren't the first person that _he_ tried to use for energy. He most often targeted telepaths or time travellers and well, people started to notice. Once enough people were reported missing, the local authorities reported it and the Shadow Proclamation sent their henchmen. The Judoon were trying to weed out potential victims and suspects by using a genetic scan. They were slowly cataloguing all the residents of the Bazaar, looking for anomalies. Ridiculous methods, but thorough. Of course they never would have found him, he was too good, had too much practice at staying in the shadows. I checked and there is also a rash of missing valuables linked to this sector going back years. The Judoon never bothered to connect the two, but like I said, they aren't particularly clever."

Rose only hesitated a moment before asking her next question, curiosity burning a hole in her stomach. "But _how_ did he even manage to have a TARDIS? I mean I thought they were gone..." she trailed off unsure of how to continue.

The Doctor shook his head. "They _are_. Time Lords bond with their ships, usually for life. When Gallifrey was destroyed the TARDIS' were destroyed as well. I have no idea how that one survived so long without being connected to the Time Vortex or bonded to a Time Lord. It should have been impossible." He paused and then continued, his body rigid, his face tense. "During the Time War, Arcadia was an important planet, a strategic point for both the Daleks and the Time Lords. It was largely unpopulated and not technologically advanced, but its position was ideal. The Time Lords finally gained control of it near the end of the war, but the Daleks attacked with nearly all their forces. We were overwhelmed, Arcadia fell, and was taken over by the Daleks." His voice wavered up and down as he spoke and his eyes were faraway, looking past Rose instead of at her. He hardly ever offered anything of himself and she wasn't sure why he did now. Her heart hammered in her chest as his eyelashes swept down, masking his eyes.

"After that the Daleks won victory after victory, decimated planet after planet." There was a long drawn out silence, and then he continued. "Finally a decision was made. We were at war and we had an ideal, a purpose – to destroy our enemy." He shrugged. "The means we used hardly seemed to matter, it was the result we were after. Of course," his lips turned up in a cold cynical smile,"I never planned on being the only one left to see that result carried through. The Time Lords came together, wiped out the Daleks, and time-locked all the events of the war, making it impossible to change the outcome. They sacrificed Gallifrey, the Daleks were destroyed, and the universe was thrown back into tentative balance."

"As for the Dream Feeders, well, they were only one of several dozen species that were devastated by a war that they had nothing to do with." He shrugged again, but Rose could tell his words were costing him and she ached for him. "Either a man is a killer, or he isn't one. No matter what I call myself, how far I run, how many I save in the process, I remain a killer even when the backdrop has changed, even when I'm acting in another play, upon a different stage. The dead don't forget Rose, and neither can I." The kettle whistled, its piercing screaming breaking the intense silence that had fallen between them. The Doctor turned away to take it off the stove.

"It's not your fault! It wasn't your fault! You're not like that!" Rose cried, pushing herself up from the kitchen table, and leaning forward. "You're not like that old man either! He chose to shut himself up. He chose to rot away studying the past, living in it. He lost himself in his ownmisery, his obsession. You chose to live and to... to love! You're not like that..." she finished quietly and then fell back into her chair, exhausted by the strong emotions that had just swept through her.

The Doctor's back was rigid, his suit coat pulled tautly across his shoulders, his hand hovered over the kettle. Rose rushed on, her words tumbling against one another. "I shouldn't have wandered off. I should have stayed with the Judoon, like you told me too. And I should have told you about the first dream I had, should have let you know what was going on. I should have told you everything... but things were so... muddled, and I didn't know what to do. And then there was the old man, and I couldn't find a way out, but I tried. I _did_ try. I'm sorry."

He turned, but didn't look at her, his voice small and soft. "It's not your fault Rose." He pushed back his hair and ran his hand roughly over his mouth. "I should never have left you in that street. I should have made sure that you were safe in the TARDIS, and I should have, well, I should have done a lot of things really." He smiled wryly and finally glanced at her. He looked tired and older than she had ever seen him.

Rose got up from the kitchen table, silently ordering her quivering knees to behave. She moved to rest on the counter next to him, taking his hand in her own, leaning in slightly and savouring the familiar solidity of him.

"I thought had lost you," he murmured, pulling her in front of him and wrapping his arms tightly around her. She buried her face in his chest and breathed in deeply, something warm and golden bubbling pleasantly in her stomach. She pulled away slightly and reached up, running her fingers along the edge of his jaw. "Rose, I... I do lo..." he began, but then stopped, hesitating, fear, grief, pain, and something else, something richer and deeper all battling for dominance in his expression.

She stopped him from talking by pressing two fingertips. "I know," she whispered.

"Do you?"

"Yeah."

"Is it enough?" he asked, his eyes dark with concern.

She smiled shyly up at him. "More than."

He pulled her to him again, and she clung to him, fighting back the tears in her eyes. She wanted to stay like this, pressed up against him, forever.

"It's not your fault Rose," he reiterated. "I should have listened to you, made you tell me what was bothering you. I was too wrapped up in my own feelings to see that you needed me. _None _of this should have ever happened. I should have taught you to shield your mind a long time ago. I should have made sure that there was no trace of the Time Vortex left in you. I could check now, run some tests, make sure..."

"No," Rose said adamantly, pulling back, meeting his eyes. "No more tests. If there is any of the Time Vortex or whatever else left in me, then its part of me now, and I want to keep it that way.

He looked like he wanted to argue, but she took the words from his mouth by leaning forward abruptly and capturing his lips with her own. The kiss was solid and comforting, slow and full of promise. It wasn't a kiss of zealous passion, but it was a confirmation, an assurance of words that didn't need to be spoken.

He pulled back, breaking of the kiss and grinning happily down at her. "Where to next Rose Tyler? Anytime, anywhen, Your wish is my command."

She leaned back in his embrace, a contented smile on her face. "Someplace beautiful. I want to go someplace beautiful."


	10. Epilogue

Epilogue

The TARDIS' engines thrummed to a halt and the Doctor raced to the doors, throwing on his coat. "Here we are, somewhere beautiful, as requested."

"Just what the Doctor ordered?" Rose teased, trailing after him.

The Doctor rolled his eyes and grinned at her, "Just what _Rose Tyler_ ordered. Put on your coat, it will be chilly."

Rose pulled on her coat, zipping up the black fabric and following him outside.

"I'm glad its not a beach," she remarked lightly. He gave her an odd questioning look and she hurried to clarify. "I'm just a big fan of beaches at the moment. But _this_ is... is... its beautiful."

A large single sun was hanging low in the sky and the atmosphere with streaked with thick swathes of bright colour: salmon pink, butter yellow, and tangerine orange. Large creatures, that reminded Rose of stingrays, swam lazily through the air, their wings dark brown against the pink sky. Giant crops of rough rock sprang up majestically from the planets surface, forming graceful natural arches and tall towers. "I can't feel any breeze. How do they stay up?" Rose asked gesturing at the alien beings.

"Oh the air is much thicker here, almost like water." The Doctor picked up a pebble and tossed it. There was a low thrum and a glimmer of blue light as the pebble hit an invisible wall and bounced harmlessly to the ground. "The TARDIS is protecting us; else we wouldn't be able to breathe."

"Oh," Rose breathed, looking back out at the landscape. "It's amazing." She looked over at him. "Thank you."

He smiled crookedly at her, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. "How long are you gonna stay with me?" he asked looked over at her. His hair fell haphazardly over his forehead, making him look young and slightly rakish.

She grinned at him, meeting his eyes, which shone almost golden in the soft light. " Forever. I'm gonna stay with you _forever_."


End file.
